


𝑆𝐴𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐶𝑂 𝑀𝐴𝐿𝐹𝑂𝑌

by RennieLiawall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Broken Draco Malfoy, Character Death, Dark, Dark Academia, Dark Magic, Drama, F/M, Half-bloods (Harry Potter), Love/Hate, Murder, Mystery, POV Draco Malfoy, Romance, Sad Draco Malfoy, Sassy, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sexy Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 94,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RennieLiawall/pseuds/RennieLiawall
Summary: 𝑖 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑡
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	1. All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> After a summer of emptiness, pain and hate, Draco discovers the flaws in his mind through the eyes of a half-blood Slytherin.
> 
> This story might be triggering to some audiences. If you're sensitive with issues such as drinking, self-harm, panic attacks, domestic violence, sexual violence, smoking and more, then maybe this is not the story for you. Please, approach this story with caution.
> 
> Year 6 to postwar. Be prepared for that 6th year Draco.
> 
> The POV of the story is determined at the top of each chapter.
> 
> Need a Spotify playlist to vibe to while reading? I got you covered, girl. It's called 'saving draco malfoy' by Rennie Liaropoulou.

* * *

D

If there ever was a person who could save me, it was her.

She would walk into the classroom and bring the smell of coffee and books with her. There weren't enough chunky, green sweaters over white cotton shirts in the world to satisfy her needs.

No one could hate her, and neither could I.

She was the smile you give to a stranger when they seem sad.

She was the warmth of the sun on the first day of spring.

She was the first cool breeze after a heatwave.

She was every hope you would ever see in this world.

* * *

O

_November 23rd, 1997_

_Dear Margot,_

_If there was a time that we were truly happy, it was in the woods._

_We reached the meadow by sunrise. We had spent all night Disapparating back and forth and back again, erasing all traces, making ourselves invisible. We were sure Draco's parents would start looking for him again, so we knew we would have to move every couple of days until we became fully lost. But that meadow was everything we had ever dreamed of; wildflowers and falling leaves, old pine trees and crisp, morning air. It was the right place to start healing._

_I headed straight into the woods to start hunting, while Draco put protective spells around us. He was always good with them because he was the most protective person I knew. I returned with a rabbit on my right hand and a few berries on the left one. Draco had already built the tent._

_"Welcome home!" he said with a wide smile, walking quickly towards me._

_He closed my eyes tightly and led me inside. The man had thought of everything. He had extended the tent just enough to make it comfortable, laid flooring, built a bed, lit a heater, put his books on a stack, warm clothes in a trunk next to the guitar case._

_"Welcome home," he repeated, this time with a lower voice of satisfaction._

_It did feel like home._

_We slept heavily all afternoon. How could a tent feel so much like a house?_

_I woke up only because I was fully rested; the first time in months. Draco was still snoozing at my side. I wore Draco's sweater, the green and silver one, the one from that winter's day over Hogwarts. The air was crisp as I walked outside. Sunset was close._

_I threw my head back, closed my eyes and breathed in deeply._

_I heard Draco's footsteps approaching from behind. He closed his arms around me and let me rest my back on his chest. I felt his heartbeat. We admired the sun sinking between the mountains, our breaths fogging._

_"We made it." The smile was audible in his voice._

_"Isn't it lovely? Alone at last..."_

_"All alone," he said, his voice melting._

_"All alone," I repeated after him._

_Now I could feel tears of joy and bliss blocking my vision._

_If there ever was a time that we were happy, it was in the woods. We erased our bad memories with fresh air and sunsets. Draco had his poetry; I had my notebook._

_He started smiling wider, laughing louder. The Dark Mark stopped burning as much. The scars on his arm were healing._

_If there ever was a time that we were happy, it was in the woods._

_Draco was safe._

_Almost saved._

_See you soon,_  
_Ophelia_

* * *


	2. Five Words

D

I looked at myself in the mirror. Every day that passed, I looked more like him.

I hardly ever saw my Father, so it was easy to forget how he looked like in the passage of time.

His fearless face had been burned in my mind as a man with no flaws. I looked up to him like I was still a child. Even as I felt his palm hitting my face harshly, he looked like the man I wanted to be one day. When I was younger, I tried to grow my hair out, but my mother refused and always cut it.

The mirror was distorted and stained from old age; the dark wood on the wall smelled of varnish and dust. Next to me, a black dresser. Hidden inside was a bottle. I knew what was coming was painful. There was no harm in numbing some of the torture. I put the bottle back in its place. Drinking was never something that we acted like it was not a family tradition. I guess I was somehow ashamed though.

A knock on the door. I didn't wonder who it was. The Manor was empty as always.

My mother was holding a glass, half-empty. Her hair was slicked back, and her dress was pressed. Even now, that she was breaking inside, she wanted to break presentable.

"He wants to see you," she said.

I walked through the halls like a dead man to be.

_He wants to see you._

The same five words every time a new expectation was added to the list. It was always said by the same woman, and it always led to Father's office. _You will never give a blanket to an elf again. You will never read that book again; it's muggle. You will never talk over me again. You will never get in the office while I'm having a meeting._ Whatever it was, it was followed by a light-red swell on pale skin.

This time, the five words led me to the Drawing Room, where my ancestors would watch me become a Death Eater. Another blanket, another book, another swell of sorts.

Becoming a Death Eater was usually a very simple ritual, but it was something most of the Death Eaters gathered for. There would be no public ritual for me. I was the recruit from a disgraced family. We had fallen, and the descent was long but quick.

Lord Voldemort was waiting with his wand at hand. He told me what he wanted me to do, and I accepted, almost as if I had a choice.

"You know what will happen, if you fail to complete this task, don't you, my boy?" he said in his old and low voice.

I nodded and knew it would be the death of me.

I was the Dark Lord's plan. Condemning me would be his revenge on my Father. Azkaban wasn't enough; he had to pay for failing the Dark Lord.

He ordered me to reveal my left arm.

I pictured my Father in his own jail, his face not that fearless anymore.

I had to do this.

* * *


	3. Cage

D

I endured the first night, almost as if I deserved the pain.

The Dark Mark burned and pricked my skin with a thousand needles every second. If you dared touch, it is stung ten times more, so any instinct to press a palm against it had to be subdued.

I didn't sleep at all that night, and since it was the first night after returning from Hogwarts for the summer, I felt out of place. I wanted to curl up and forget that I existed. Crippled by sleeplessness, exhausted by pain, I promised myself I would find a way to make myself sleep the next night.

I creeped out of my room late at night.

I tiptoed across the hallway and lost a heartbeat when I heard the blackwood creak under my feet. It felt like I was a child again; out of bed after hours. Only there was no one there to catch me now.

I walked down the stairs and unlocked the door of Father's study with my wand.

The way I remembered my childhood thoughts; I always assumed that this is where my Father had business meetings. Of course, I later noticed that Father had way too many meetings in the dark of the night and with colleagues that were always dressed in black, so I quickly put the pieces together.

In any case, my Father's office was always a mystery, an intrigue. A room I was never supposed to go to. Of course, I was always a curious child, and after many attempts to penetrate the unexplored world of an otherwise boring room, I knew there was a stash of hard liquor in the last drawer of the heavy desk.

I lit up my wand and walked inside.

"What are you doing?"

There wasn't a chance of something happening in this Manor without my mother knowing – which was always contradictory to the dimensions of the large estate. Opposite to my Father, who showed little care about what was happening outside this very office or the West Drawing-room, Mother seemed to have a gift of noticing everything.

"I'm looking for a book," I lied.

"You're not allowed to be here. You know that very well."

Mother leaned against the dark wood of the door to give her tired feet a rest. When she raised her glass to take a sip, the silk of her black nightgown trickled to her elbow and revealed paper-white skin. A bruise of purple, yellow and blue was showing at the wide of the forearm.

"It's not like Father is coming back from Azkaban to scold me," I said but instantly regretted when I met the silent pain in her eyes. My mother may have never told me so, but this was the toughest time of her life.

"You know, the Ministry sent a notice a few hours ago. They set a date for the trial. It's in three days," she explained.

"Does that mean Father is getting out? Is he coming back?" I said and was hoping it would be the first good news in a while.

Mother fell in complete silence. She looked at her glass, she took a sip and didn't speak.

"We have a good lawyer, right? That Avery man."

In my Mother's stillness, I could feel her grief. She raised her eyes to mine and took a long breath in.

"There is nothing we can do for your Father at this moment. He was caught red-handed. This trial is for _us_."

It was as we had expected it. After the scandal of what happened at the Department of Mysteries a few weeks ago broke to the newspapers, there was no way the Ministry would let us negotiate the release of my Father. Their next goal was to investigate us. If we were found guilty of conspiring with him, we would be put in Azkaban as well.

"Don't you worry, Draco. We are not going to Azkaban. Your father and I have made sure of that. But for more security, the Dark Lord will come here tomorrow evening to conceal our Marks. If the Ministry were to see them, they would send us straight to Azkaban."

The amount of resentment I held for this man was already inconceivable. I felt hopeless that without his help, we could be arrested and condemned for life. I hated how my life depended on him now.

"But what about Father?"

Mother would never admit something she didn't want to. She only walked up to me and ran her hand back and forth securely on my back, the way she always did when I was a child.

"Once your task is completed, the Dark Lord will have more power than ever before. He will find a way of getting him out."

I felt the burden on my shoulders heavier than ever. If need be, Voldemort could take my Father out of Azkaban at any given moment and simply put him in hiding. Last year he had found a way to bring back Aunt Bellatrix and nine other Death Eaters. He could do it for Bella but not his most loyal servant?

Then again, Bella was his mistress and his personal punching bag, and Voldemort couldn't go a day without degrading and humiliating someone. But no, I didn't think it was a matter of importance for Voldemort.

No; all Voldemort wanted was to torture us as a family, as a whole. He wanted more pressure on my task. He wanted Lucius Malfoy never to meet his son again.

"It all comes down to you. Do it, and all will go back to normal," Mother lied with a bitter smile.

There were lies in her eyes. It was a task doomed to fail and with that same purpose. To Mother, to Voldemort, to me, I was a man walking to his death.

When she left, I took the liquor from my Father's drawer, locked my door twice and drank until it was impossible to think straight. I cried and slept otherwise easily.

* * *

After the trial, my mother took a long fall to hysteria. She never shed a tear, only clutched her pillow and screamed in it. I could hear her across the empty halls.

The Ministry set us on house arrest for two months – from the 24th of June until the 24th of August – and assigned Aurors to watch us like hawks at all times.

Mother sold an estate in Wales and managed to buy us some privacy. Who knew Aurors were so easy to bribe? Now they would at least stay at a safe distance outside the Manor and wouldn't bother us throughout the day.

We closed every curtain in the Manor, our own effort to shut the intruders' eyes away. Then again, every curtain in the Manor was either green or grey and effectively blocking out every stream of sun.

The Manor became a dungeon, a prison of our own device, and I was progressively feeling the silk jail closing around me.

"Look at them..." I shook my head while peeking through heavy, closed drapes. "They haven't moved an inch since morning."

"Get away from the window, Draco."

"I swear, next time I see scarhead, I'm going to beat the living hell out of him." I had muttered and hoped that Mother wouldn't hear my sudden outburst.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, not because I was showing my hate towards our enemy but because I rarely made such statements in her presence.

"He put Father in Azkaban. He set me on house arrest," I explained, and Mother fell silent.

Who could blame me for wanting to hurt him? If there was someone I could honestly blame for my fate, it was Harry Potter and his friend.

I spent my days in our library, reading any book that could help me conceive some plan of action for when I would be back at Hogwarts.

"It has to be something he won't see through," Mother kept reminding me. I was now counting the times she'd said that.

I admired her sentiment and her will to help me. All she was doing, however, was put more pressure on me. Soon I felt the need to draw myself away to get some peace of mind.

When we thought it was safe, Aunt Bella came to live with us, which only made the Dark Lord's comings and goings more frequent, much to everyone's dismay.

Bella stayed in the dungeons for more security and the more I studied her, the more I believed she had a sadistic personality disorder, maybe even sociopathy. She was a nasty woman, and I don't know how my mother could stand her, but at least she made her laugh once in a while.

It was lucky I spent most of my days reading because Bella hated our library as much as she hated Firewhiskey without any ice in it. But when Bella wanted to tease someone, she would stop at nothing.

"I'm so proud of you!" she squeaked and squeezed me in a hug. "Our little boy! The Chosen One!"

Even though Bella looked like the kind of woman that resented any human contact, she could switch to a touchy, breathy person, depending on who she was talking to, how comfortable she felt or how much she wanted to annoy you at that certain moment.

"Get off, Bella! I'm trying to study."

She sat heavily across the table, loudly stacked one heeled foot on top of the other and grabbed the green apple that I had saved for later.

"You know you'll fetch me another one from the kitchens, right?" I said when I heard her bite, not even raising my eyes to look.

"Yes, that's definitely going to happen," she said with a high-pitched tone full of sarcasm. Sometimes I know where I get it from. "So!" she continued. "What do we have planned for dear, old Albus Dumbledore?" she said and rubbed her hands together after throwing the bitten apple in a bin across the room. It always annoyed me when people threw away unfinished food.

"I don't know yet. I'm figuring it out," I muttered.

"What are you studying then?"

"Poisons."

"Dumbledore will see right through that," Bellatrix groaned.

"I can find something untraceable," I said and flipped a page loudly.

"You also have to find a way to get it to him, though," she added.

"Yeah, I know! I'm not a complete idiot!" I snapped – or rather, yelled.

"So tense!" she mocked and laughed. "You are wasting your time with poisons. It's easy. You know the spell; just go up to him and do it!"

I casually ignored her, not only because her disdain was incredibly annoying, but also because she spoke the truth that I most feared. I dreaded even the thought of confronting Dumbledore. If I had any chance of surviving this, it was by using my brain.

"I do not understand what you're so nervous about."

"I'm not nervous. I'm annoyed," I muttered. If I had said it louder, maybe she wouldn't ignore it.

"I know you've got it in you! I always knew my nephew was destined for greatness! It's _me_ you take after. The blood of the Blacks runs thick in your veins," she said with an expression on bliss and pride.

"Oh, will you, please, _shut it_ already?" I snapped.

"You honestly have _got_ to relax," she threw her head back.

Bellatrix cackled loudly and unnecessarily but then looked at me seriously with a look that I could only describe as naughty.

"What." It was a demand.

"I heard your ex is back in Bath..." she raised one eyebrow and formed a smirk on her mouth.

"What does _that_ have to do with anything?" I said but instantly regretted when I turned my gaze to her.

"The 'relax' thing?" she said and winked.

I sighed heavily. I should have seen this coming.

"Bella. I'm going to close my eyes and count to ten. If you're still here after that, I'm going to practice my killing curse on you."

Bella would laugh and laugh at any given moment when someone felt uncomfortable. She strolled around the room and threw some hideous tunes and then danced her way out of the library.

After this, I had hoped that I would be able to have some peace and quiet, but not half an hour had passed when Mother knocked on the door and walked in the library without waiting for an answer.

She took a turn about the room, left an apple on a book, made an attempt to smoothen my hair before I waved her hand away, and finally seated herself opposite me, half-empty glass on hand.

"Bellatrix told me that you're planning on poisoning him," she jumped straight into the issue.

"I was just doing some research," I said and returned to my reading; only now, I could only stare emptily at the page in front of me and nothing more.

Mother took a sip of her drink.

"I don't know if it's a good plan-"

"That's why I haven't _planned_ anything. Can you please fuss about something else? Maybe make Aunt Bella comport herself? I heard a vase breaking in the next room. It's a miracle she hasn't been discovered yet, especially with the Aurors over our heads," I snapped.

I hated it when I was aggressive towards my mother. If I knew anything back then, it was that all she did was because she didn't want me to get hurt. No matter how pressuring she became, it was all coming from a place of love.

"You have to think of something that Dumbledore will not see through," she said.

Third time this week. And it was only Tuesday.

I hated how everyone was casually ignoring the things I said and only tried to force their opinions in the conversation. I was losing hope for everything that was outside my room.

"Yes, I know. You remind me every day."

I banged my book shut, slid it into my hand and walked away.

I locked my room's door. I looked outside the window and saw one of the Aurors looking back at me. I drew the curtains shut and made myself a midday night.

I reminded myself that I liked staying inside my room, that there was nothing for me to do out there. However, the more the house felt like a cage, the more I wanted to get out.

It was a lovely summer's day outside, and I wasn't there to see it.

* * *


	4. Worse

D

I think that's when it started getting worse.

I didn't even know exactly how it happened, but I remember often looking at the burning forearm. It was painful, but, if I felt another sort of pain, it might go away or at least feel like less.

I counted the days that I hadn't talked to a single soul during that summer, and there were 23 of them in total. No 'good mornings' or knocks on the door. If I ever tried to talk to myself for a change, my voice would be blocked by the long absence of any sound.

If I ever got out of the room, I was met with the concern of my mother and aunt, who got every chance they found to remind me what my task was.

"You have to come out someday, sweetheart..." My mother's broken voice came after the knock on the last day of July.

If I didn't answer for long enough, she would think that I was asleep and she would go away. I heard the discreet cling of a full tray meeting the floor and then footsteps. I could breathe again.

I would have been moved by her sentiment if it wasn't for the pain on my forearm. It was burning again, and pain was slowly replacing any other emotion that would otherwise come up.

I drunk myself to sleep and hoped this would be over by morning.

* * *

And then, of course, there were the screams, the disturbing, disgusting moans that were coming from the dungeons, where Aunt Bella had her bedroom. The dungeons' entrance wasn't far from my room, a set of stairs that led two stores below parted it, and in the empty halls, voice travelled fast.

If it got unbearable – and most times it did – I escaped to the bedroom right opposite mine.

There was an old piano in my great-grandmother's room, and the discipline in me was inviting for me to dust my old skills. It helped that if I played the piano, I couldn't hear Bella's screams every time the Dark Lord paid her a visit.

My great-grandmother was now partly mute and almost deaf of old age but she was always pleased when I played the piano for her. She was confined to a wheelchair, so I would roll her next to the piano, where she could hear the melody clearer.

"Fucking again, are they?" she would say, and we would force any laughter that we could find in ourselves so that we could survive this travesty.

Neither Mother nor Bella ever got in this lonely, dark room (for dramatic, family reason that would remain unknown to me) and so I had some peace and quiet if I wanted to.

With weak and wrinkled hands, she would make a motion of clapping that otherwise made no sound.

"Well done, Draco!" she would mumble and smile with lips drawn back to her mouth.

I was sure that she hadn't heard half of the notes, but she was the only person I ever wanted to play for. She was always an unyielding lady that had seen this family at its best. She had borne witness to all the power and glamour and fame of the Malfoys; the balls, the galas, the diamonds. I could see that it pained her when she was left aside and forgotten as she usually was. In those days, I felt like I was her only solace and source of enjoyment other than the old emerald jewels she still wore.

I could say the same for her. In a way, she was the only member of the family I felt safe to talk to, even as a young child because she had an undeniable quality: you could talk to her for hours about your problems and be sure that she would not speak a word to anyone – yes, partly because she would have heard less than half of it. She would listen, understand and nod.

"Play another one!" she would say excitedly.

And with a sharp pain in both my forearms and silent tears in my eyes, I would play her the Moonlight Sonata.

* * *


	5. National Gallery

D

After two weeks, more bribery and a hefty activation of Ministry connections, I was told we could finally leave the house, but that we would be closely followed by Aurors wherever we went.

Mother and Bellatrix gasped with excitement when they saw me getting out of my room after a month of absence but then their eyes turned dark with concern.

"What in the Dark Lord's name are you wearing?" said Bella with eyes wide open.

I looked at myself again. I guess sweatpants and hoodies were not the most usual thing for me to wear but I had hoped they wouldn't notice. They were black after all. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm just going for a walk in the forest," I explained and shrugged my shoulders. It was the first words I'd spoken in a while, and I was displeased that I had to break my strike for something like this.

"You look like a homeless goblin," said Bellatrix, and where there would be a giggle, came a crooked, disgusted face.

"Bella!" my mother exclaimed. She never liked it when Bellatrix was offensive towards me.

I walked back into my room and changed in my suit. It was less comfortable, but at least now I wouldn't have to deal with any comments.

The Aurors looked at me from head to toe when I stepped outside the Manor. I walked past them and headed down the winding path that led to the woods. The Aurors were stuck a few feet away from me.

Not as relaxing as I'd imagined.

I started taking walks around the estate on a daily basis. It was unnerving having two men acting like shadows but at least it took my mind off things a little. The pain of the mark on my forearm felt less and less the more I walked. It helped at first. The more days passed, however, the more I felt like I needed to walk farther and farther.

Then I started taking trips to Oxford and Reading and Swinton, going on walks around the towns and streets. My Aurors followed from afar. I could feel their disgusting eyes on me. I visited every magical museum I could find just to make them bored and leave. It never worked.

I always travelled first class and on purpose. I especially enjoyed it when the Aurors had to convert their Galleons into muggle money and spend a fortune on tickets in order to follow me around the country during the trips I took; their tattered clothes proved they must not be getting a good payment and I took great satisfaction knowing that they were wasting even a small part of the heavy bribes we gave them in order to let us get out of the house.

Go ahead and think I was cruel for doing that.

The more you bribed them, the more they left you alone. But money could only buy you a bit more distance.

Oh, how I longed for the 25th of August when I would be finally lifted of the Ministry's poor excuse for control.

Then I tried livelier places, like Birmingham and Bristol. I tried fooling myself that they were just two faces in the crowd.

That's when I picked up smoking.

"We hardly ever see you anymore. You have a plan to devise, you know!"

But I'd already left.

* * *

My last try – faraway London.

I got off the train at King's Cross Station, furious that my two shadows had the audacity to sit just two rows behind me.

"Alright fellas," I walked up to them with a decisive look that felt familiar on my face. "I think it's time for the both of you to go for a pint."

It was bizarre hearing the sound of my voice again.

"What makes you think you can order-"

I reached for the backpack that was hanging from a shoulder and opened it quickly. The man knew what was coming and seemed more than happy to shut any complaint.

"How about this?" I held out a green, silk pouch. The Auror immediately spread out a hand widely. "Would that buy me a peaceful walk around London?"

"Where are you going, Mr Malfoy?"

I looked right and left, my eyes wandering around the platform helplessly. I didn't have a plan. I had just hoped that a busy city would have made them want to drink a beer at the Leaky Cauldron, rather than follow a teenager around.

I wanted to say something random; anything. Once I got rid of them, I could go anywhere I felt like.

My eyes fell upon a poster at the side of a door that led to the tube. It was an exhibition for the National Gallery – a mad man, abstractly and clumsily drawn, staring. He spoke to me.

"The National Gallery," I answered. Not one of my best stunts.

"The Muggle one?" said the hulky, tall one.

"Got a problem?"

The men thought about it and exchanged some looks back and forth, weighing the pouch with their eyes. They seemed to be having an inaudible conversation.

"We'll be waiting outside the building. It's all you get."

I scoffed at my misfortune but was otherwise satisfied. A month of visiting museums all over England and heavy bribery had paid off. They decided it was another day for me, with nothing mischievous lurking behind. Although I had had no wish to spend my morning in some worthless, muggle gallery, it would be a day of freedom. That put me in a good mood.

I didn't mind walking all the way to Trafalgar Square. It was better than sharing another train with all those muggles. It could have saved me half an hour, but at least I had more chances to get away from the Aurors and then go my own way, avoiding my pitifully and momentarily devised plan. No. They followed me all the way to the National Gallery. These men were stubborn, even with their pockets full.

I walked up the marble staircase that led to the Gallery's entrance, with the mad man watching me from every poster hung up between the Corinthian columns. I walked through the muggle security without any questions about my wand and walked to what my map marked as the '1200-1500 ward'. It seemed to be the oldest paintings they had. Pathetic.

I was right about those muggles. They had nothing to offer. They had no greater skill than a four-year-old wizard with a wand and seemed to have an obsession with religion. A month ago I might have been impressed by some of the things displayed but, after visiting every magical museum in England and admiring Merlin's timeless staff or Salazar Slytherin's first spellbook, I couldn't be awestruck by the muggles' fixation on angels and still art.

The renaissance section was emptier than the other halls and an otherwise good place to sit and think.

I walked into room 30, sat heavily on the brown, leather sofa and looked at the painting ahead. An Aphrodite, absorbed by her reflection in a mirror held by cupid. If you were imaginative enough, you would think she was looking at you; through the mirror, through the painting. Despite the stillness of it all, it was an interesting concept.

_Scribble, scribble._ Pen on paper.

I turned to look for the source of the irritating sound. She was sitting next to me, and I must have ignored her presence when I entered the room, much like I did back in Hogwarts.

She was a comfortably familiar face, one that likes to study next to a specific window at the Slytherin Common Room. Hands stained with ink, chestnut hair on a plait, rosy cheeks, a silver ring on a pinky as she was writing with her left hand.

_Scribble, scribble._

I remembered the night we met but shook my head to remove the memory off my head for now and save any complicated thoughts for later.

_Scribble, scribble._

She was the girl on the backdrop as you tease Longbottom or Potter. She was notorious for being the only Slytherin who was friends with those stupid blood-traitors and therefore always left aside by us proud Slytherins. She was a silent presence, yet never interesting enough to pick up a fight with. No one ever cared to look twice, and neither did I.

She was the friend of an enemy. How cliché of us...

It would be nice to talk to her but then again, why would I? We had very few actual encounters, during our first three years in Hogwarts, when she hadn't started hanging out with Potter yet, when she was just an anti-social, silent Slytherin. Then, of course, she became friends with scarhead, and I pointedly decided to ignore her as an outlaw Slytherin. Why would I talk to her?

Maybe I should pick up a fight. I thought of how nice it would be to have a simple chat, one that didn't involve the difficult matters I had gotten used to thinking during that summer. I was tired of only having concerns that seemed too serious, too far from my age. Maybe this would take my mind off things.

In a way, this whole thing started because I was alone and in pain that day.

She seemed quite pretty as well, same as on the night we met.

"Hello," I said.

The girl was absorbed in her writing, and I must have spoken with a croaky voice too. It was embarrassing.

"Hey," I said a bit louder this time.

The girl stopped her writing at once, looked to her left and seemed startled. I could tell by her surprised eyes that she recognized my face as well.

"You're in Slytherin too," I said.

"I am," she confirmed.

"Something with a B... Blackwood?" Of course, I remembered her name – her surname to be exact.

"Close enough. Blackthorn," she corrected.

"Oh, right," I structured my face in a condescending expression. I was myself again.

I may or may not have remembered her correct surname with extreme certainty. I had looked out for it after the night we met. But then again, after I saw how unfit for any attention she was, I had successfully managed to take it off my brain purposefully. I realized that, even after that night we'd met, I never even cared enough to learn her first name. I hadn't felt like more of an asshole my whole life but didn't have time for self-loathing.

"Yes, you're the silent one. The Slytherin that thinks is too good for Slytherin. Friends with scarhead and mudbloods and blood-traitors and always gets away somehow."

"Oh, I wouldn't say so. Just a few weeks ago, I proudly got some very painful detention because you and the Inquisitorial Squad caught me red-handed in the very illegal act of practising spells with my friends," she said matter-of-factly. "I would hardly call that getting away."

I saw the girl casually returning to her notebook after shaking her head in disapproval. There was nothing more intriguing than a Slytherin that ignores you.

"Well, that's what you get for getting involved with weirdos. Right, Blackwood?" The mistake was forced, of course; I wanted to get some reaction out of her.

"Blackthorn!" she corrected at once. That snap was the first time she was showing any actual sign of annoyance.

And just as I thought she was going to erupt, creating the most spectacular fight that would pull me out of my misery, the girl surprised me.

"You seriously don't remember me at all, do you?"

Let me explain. Let me take you back to the night we met.

* * *


	6. The Night We Met

D

And what a terrible night it was. Mother sent me a letter and instructed me to take Pansy with me to the Ball. Apparently, she had tea with Mrs Parkinson and she seemed eager that Pansy didn't wait in vain. I am convinced that half of the bad nights I've had to live through, have been indirectly caused by Mother and her tea.

"Really now?" Blaise scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Have they chosen a wedding venue yet?"

"Give them time. They have their hands full; finding cute baby names and all..."

It was the time when I wouldn't think twice over something my parents had told me to do. It helped that the alternative would be for me to return to the Manor and face my Father's rage. He was furious I didn't get in the Slytherin Quidditch team that year. Father sent me a strongly-worded letter, stating that he refused to keep making donations to a Quidditch team if I couldn't even bother to show up for the trials. Father ordered me to come back for the holidays and prepare myself for the worst.

The only chance of me staying in Hogwarts for Christmas break – in hope that it would all be forgotten by summer – was if my mother put a good word for it; if I didn't embarrass her by snubbing the Parkinsons, that is.

In any case, I felt like I didn't have much of a choice. I was between Christmas holidays that resembled hell and giving false leads to a girl I didn't really like. It was an easy choice.

"I mean, how bad could it be?" asked Blaise.

"Today Pansy asked me what my favourite type of bird is so that she can buy a matching pin and hair clip. That bad."

"Did you want to take someone else? Is that what's bumming you out?"

"Well, yes! I wanted to take someone who doesn't stalk me around school all the time!" I bellowed

Blaise threw a glance towards the other end of the Slytherin table, only to see Pansy giggling uncontrollably between her stares. Suddenly he was very concerned.

"If I were you, I wouldn't touch anything she has been near to. I hear she is trying to brew a Love Potion."

"By Merlin, if she doesn't hate me by the end of this Ball, I'm going to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower," I said desperately but made a conspiring look.

"How are you planning on making that happen? She is totally nuts for you."

"Oh, just watch. I'm _not_ going to dance with her all night. I'm going to dance with everyone else but her. If she doesn't get the message now – I swear to Merlin, Blaise, I will lose it. Let's see if she goes crying to her mother next time about _Dracy_ not asking her to the fucking Ball!" I said and made a conspiring, narrow look.

"Yeah, but you _did_ just ask her to the Ball. Isn't that going to send her mixed messages again?"

"Hey! Whose side are you on?"

Pansy looked as if she put way too much effort into her looks and was searching for my eyes. She held my hand as tightly as she could and dragged me from place to place, discussing how hideous every other dress looked in her opinion and complimenting my hair, even though I had purposefully spent a minimum amount of time to them.

At least I could admit the night would flow easily. However much I couldn't stand Pansy's eagerness to dance in the middle of the dancefloor only to show off her mediocre skills, there would be free butterbeer and firewhiskey, that the fourthyears wouldn't have managed to get ahold of in other cases. And indeed in the spectacular sight of the Great Hall glistening white and blue, time flew quickly.

"Come on, Dracy! Let's dance!"

"Can't you see that I'm drinking my firewhiskey?" I said crossly.

"We have barely danced at all!"

"Yep!"

So I filled one glass after another even after I got lightheaded. I found it a good excuse to stay away from the dancefloor and waited patiently for her to leave my side even for a second so I could set my masterplan in action.

I finally got my shot when she left to powder her nose and then made a long stop at her friends' group to brag about her expensive dress. I quickly got to work and looked around for a partner.

That was, funnily and ironically, when I met Polyxeny. Well, that didn't last for long... She was a good girl, but I don't think that she ever talked about anything else than herself in the three months that we would date during the fifth year. She was rather shallow.

Yes, I was a bit of a heartbreaker back then.

Pansy fumed when she saw me dancing with Polyxeny, or the next partner, or the next one, but she was too passive-aggressive to interrupt me and make a scene. I danced with any girl that I found in front of me on the dancefloor and sent Pansy the strong message she deserved.

The songs were getting slower. Everyone was slowly disappearing, tired from the hectic night. Meanwhile, my annoying date was still waiting for me in the corner, searching for any small window to come dance with me again. I wasn't going to let this happen. While everyone started slow-dancing, I looked around in terror, looking for my next partner quickly.

That's when I saw _her_.

She was a sight.

Braided, brown hair. Hazel eyes, almost golden with a few green flakes around the edges – the eyes of autumn. A face slim, with harsh lines, yet with dimples.

In my fourth year, I recognized her as a Slytherin who never fit in. She was always alone and so she rarely caught my attention. A mystery to everyone. I certainly didn't care enough to have noticed she had just started hanging out with her newly-found, Gryffindor friends. That night, she was a complete stranger. Would I be too bold if I danced with a stranger?

She was slowly retrieving from the dancefloor as well. She didn't seem to have a date, at least none that was around; if she did, she would be slow-dancing along with all the other couples.

_Oh, what the heck; what do I have to lose?_

She almost screamed out when I grabbed her hand and pulled her back on the dancefloor.

"Wha-" she exclaimed.

"One dance; you're saving me!"

"Errmm... What?" she asked with a crooked face but thankfully didn't draw away or slap me across the face, the way I would have expected her to. It was a close one.

"I'm avoiding my date," I explained with a whisper.

"And this is my problem, because..."

"Come on! One song."

"Are you drunk?" she asked at once. Looking back, I know what she may have thought. _Why would he want to dance with me?_ But then, I was totally oblivious of who she was or wasn't, who her friends were or weren't.

"I mean... A bit?"

"It shows," she said.

"Well you're not going to leave a drunk man alone, are you?"

"You're lucky I don't want to go to bed yet," she said.

She rolled her eyes and unwillingly obliged with a face that showed that she was accepting this dance only from the good of her heart.

I put one hand against the silver, shimmering fabric on her waist.

We watched the couples around us closing the space between them, the girls resting their heads on the boys' chests, the boys attempting their first try on a kiss. Suddenly, dancing with a stranger was more of a challenge. She didn't seem like an easy girl to amuse.

"If you didn't want to dance with your date, then why did you ask her to the bloody dance in the first place?" she asked.

"It's a long story..." I simply answered. Another roll of eyes. She _acted_ like a Slytherin.

The song was getting closer to the refrain. It was a nice moment to twirl the girl once and catch her again as the music deepened into the bliss of electric guitar. The girl was unimpressed with this classic move that usually made the partner go wild. This only made me want to twirl her again, but I resisted for now.

"You better make it quick then; you've got about 3 minutes for this song to be over."

"Or – "

Another twirl. She was still unimpressed. Now I was intrigued.

"– you could just stay for another one, and I can tell you all about it," I said cheerfully. Deep inside, I was looking for a way to dodge her suggestion to talk about the simple, yet complicated, circumstances that had pushed me to this awkward date. I had spent way too much of my energy on the matter that night, and she felt like an easy-going person with whom I could forget myself for one or two minutes.

"Don't press your luck. My feet are killing me," she said in an otherwise tranquil face.

"Really? I couldn't have guessed. You look fine."

"It's a pain that I will never wish to anyone. But when you put on heels, you have to own it."

"Just take them off then," I shrugged my shoulders.

"What? Here?"

"There's barely anyone left here. Just take them off."

It didn't take much to convince her. The girl groaned and leaned forward. She put all her weight on one foot, slightly leaned on me as I held her balanced and took off one shoe with a face of relief. She managed to make this otherwise clumsy moment look effortlessly perfect. She _moved_ like a Slytherin. I was glad. She bounced back on her now bare foot and took the right heel off as well, as I held her hand for stability.

Suddenly the girl disappeared under me.

"Ah, it's like walking on pillows," she said, and now I could feel the pair of heels dangling under our hands as we returned to our slow-dance.

I had to adjust my head now; look down to meet her face.

"Woah, you're short."

"Here we go again... For the last time: 5ft 2in is only 1.4 inches away from the women's average in the UK. 1.4 inches shorter does not make you _short;_ it makes you _average_. I am _average_. And I'm still 14, so I can easily grow another 1.4 inches. There. Not short."

"Huh... That's weird. I can hear someone talking about the average height in the UK, but I can't really see anyone..."

"Yes, yes, very amusing," she said, finally letting out a little laugh.

"Did anyone see that cute girl I was dancing with?"

"Very funny." She was bothered, but even in the lowering lights, I could see her blush.

The ice was broken, and she was now more comfortable with her stranger for a partner.

She moved easily, playfully, effortlessly. Despite the fact that our dance was unexpected and rushed, she had a soft smile on her face. I tried pushing my luck, but she was turning stiff whenever I tried to bring her a tad closer to me, so I quickly gave up on that effort.

"I hope I'm not holding you back from _your_ date." In my mind, I only said that so I could keep the conversation going. Secretly, I wished to confirm that she was here alone.

"Oh, I have no date," she explained mindlessly.

"Oh!" I made a gloomy face. "That's so sad... I'm so sorry..." In my head, it sounded polite but it must have come out as if I was pitying her. Her smile turned into a frown.

"Hey! You find me pathetic for coming alone? It's more respectful or honest than hiding from a clingy date!"

Her tone was tranquil. As intriguing as it should be. Her mouth was in desperate need to offend but her eyes were kind.

I hadn't been called out on something as rudely, as subtly, as beautifully ever again in my life.

"No, no! I didn't mean that... This came out wrong."

"And what _did_ you mean?"

"I just couldn't figure out how no one asked you. You look stunning."

And she looked stunning indeed. You could easily get lost in her gaze. She had this air about her, this unbothered aura. She wasn't a conventional beauty. Some flaws here and there proved that she was human; pale skin, wild eyebrows, a blond, discreet mole over the upper corner of her left eyebrow, a white, childhood scar lower on her chin. But these only added to the pattern that made her, the pattern that _was_ her. She blended amongst the glistening lights, the blues of the night, the music, the glitter, the dry ice.

"Saved it." She smiled again.

She looked satisfied after that, and the dancing resumed.

Restrained but easy. Romantic but not romantic at all. She never gave more or less than she should. I think that other than my clumsy insult, she enjoyed the dance.

"I like this song..." she said when the guitar solo kicked in.

"Yeah, it's nice," I admitted.

It was mellow. It sounded like youth, like carefree bliss, like sweet nostalgia. The kind of melodies that you hear only once and connect with one certain moment, one certain feeling.

"Do you know the title?" she asked.

"No idea."

"It might be muggle," she shrugged.

"It better not be," I scoffed.

Her face turned cloudy for a few seconds, but the song was quickly over, so she gave me one last smile.

"Goodnight," she simply said when the music died.

"Merry Christmas," I said.

"See you soon."

"I sure hope so."

As I watched the shimmer of her dress disappear, I realized I didn't even have the courtesy to ask what her name was.

I thought about her that night.

After that night, I looked out to see her in the Common Room or in the hallways. But when I saw her again for our first Charms class of 1995, she went on and sat next to Ron Weasley. I forgot all about her in an instant, and that was that.

God, if I have ever been robbed of a happiness in my life it was this one; we never found that song that played on the night we met. 

* * *


	7. Starry Night

D

"You seriously don't remember me at all, do you?" she asked unexpectedly.

If I had one gift in my life, it was that of controlling my emotions.

When, after our dance, I found out that she was friends with the enemy, one would expect me to misbehave and make an exception. She was a Slytherin after all and maybe she was not as worthless as her companion. But making exceptions was never in my nature, even when the memory of a slow song, some glistening lights, a sparkly dress and bright eyes made it tempting to crush my rules.

No; I saw who she sat next to, I heard her surname next time she raised her hand to speak. And that was it. I would be lying if I said it took long to forget her. It was quick and brutal. I knew all I needed to know about her.

I never tried teasing her, like I did with the Gryffindors she so proudly associated herself with. When you want to totally disregard a person, you are rational and you remind yourself to avoid any contact, even those created to insult the person. It did help that she was a relatively silent girl, a quality that made fights boring.

After all, she was a Slytherin. Friendships aside, you couldn't treat a Slytherin the same way you did a Gryffindor. It was just better to act as if nothing happened – because nothing did in fact.

Almost two years later, I still knew how to control my emotions.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I lied.

I saw her jaw stiffen but her expression would otherwise remain unchanged. She hadn't believed me; I could tell.

"Seriously now..." she muttered to herself, not really interested in this conversation. All she seemed to want was to return to her notebook. She blended in with the museum and, if you were drunk enough, you would swear she was just another serene painting talking to you.

"Are you going to explain what you mean?" I played on. I created the most indifferent face I could muster. I didn't want her to suspect I remembered her.

"Well nothing, I'm just wondering how many brain cells you need to have in total in your head, in order to _not_ remember the name of someone from your own house, with whom you've taken the same classes since you were 11 years old. My guess is three. Maybe two because you only bothered with my last name," she said.

I was as sure as I could get that it wasn't what she'd meant. I suspected she recalled our dance as vividly as I did. But the half chance there was that she was annoyed only because I didn't know my enemy's name, irritated me.

If she was playing me as much as I was playing her, she knew how to play the game damn well; in her insult, she had revoked in my mind the thought that I didn't know her first name and suddenly I had this unreasonable urge to ask.

"Wasting space in my brain so I can store utterly unimportant names is not my forte."

For me, it was refreshing to be having a petty argument with someone. The girl, however, seemed less than amused, which made me even more enthralled.

"Ugh... I don't have the energy for this..."

She seemed troubled; eager to return to her notebook and get over this insignificant fight. I was wondering what was on her mind. She was a mystery. Why wasn't she fighting back?

"What is it, by the way?" I gave every effort I had in me to make the question sound unimportant and trivial to me.

"Huh?"

"Your first name. What is it?"

A moment of weakness. However much I tried to mask my question as a demand, I couldn't help but sound weak, as if I'd lost the battle. I cursed at myself for that.

"Ophelia."

Pause. One thing came in my mind; her name made sense.

"I don't expect it to stick in your minuscule brain for more than four short seconds, though," she continued. I could hear the insults but her face was as unbothered as it could get.

"Yeah, it's not a very nice one, so..." Not one of my best offences.

Ophelia rolled her eyes and tried to go back to her writing silently. Getting this girl hot-headed was not an easy task. She was calm even when she bothered to insult you.

"Aren't you going to ask me what _my_ name is? How rude of you, Blackwood," I said. I felt it as I said it; I was pushing the line. Ophelia still didn't seem in much of a mood for fighting with some random classmate.

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy."

Ophelia closed her notebook and stood. In a glance, one might think I was the obvious winner of this round; I had stood my ground in acting like I didn't remember her while she had taken a step back and openly admitted she knew perfectly well who I was. Yet, watching her so uninterested in winning made it feel less like a victory. Whatever pleasure I had taken had vanished the moment I saw her walking away.

She made her way to the next room. She did gain these 1.4 inches after all.

I looked around me. All the portraits were staring at me, following me from every corner; they knew my heart had raced for a second.

The gallery had gone back to boring in no time, yet with the corner of my eye, I caught Ophelia making her way around room 32 with an excited look on her face – more interested than when I tried fighting with her, in fact. How could she be excited? They were just muggle paintings. Any wizard would yawn in here.

_Come on, then, Draco. You don't care. Back to normal, now._

I stayed there for more than 10 minutes – something that I knew solely because I took a glimpse of my watch and not because it felt like 10 minutes. If I were to make a blind estimate, I would say that I stayed there for either two short moments or an endless infinity. I couldn't decide between the two.

I contemplated leaving for a moment but I was sure the Aurors would be waiting for me out there, just as promised, and I don't think I was ready to let go of my newly found freedom just yet. I made my way back to the Entrance Hall. It was later in the day now and the museum was somewhat busier, something rather unusual for a Tuesday morning.

I walked in the men's bathroom and walked into a cubicle. I pulled my flask from my bag and took some time to drink half of its contents. Alcohol was starting to have less effect on me nowadays, so I compensated by taking the sips quickly. When I felt the heat rising to my scalp, I returned to room 30.

I found myself mechanically looking at the paintings but in an otherwise hassled manner. I told myself it was because no amount of alcohol could make this room interesting.

Ophelia was still studying room 32 when I entered it. I would have expected her to have moved on to the next room by now. I wondered if she had made another stop to write in her notebook.

Our ways collided again on a rather unfortunate painting. I read the label on the right of the frame. _Boy Bitten by a Lizard._ It may have been the alcohol but I found his expression hilarious.

I chuckled.

"What is so funny?" asked Ophelia.

"Oh, come on..." I whispered, still struggling to contain my laughter to a smile.

"This is a Caravaggio. Show some respect," she said seriously. I had no idea who that was and didn't want to ask either. Muggle artists were not in my pool of interests and honestly found whoever showed interest in them pathetic.

"Oh, come on. Bitten by a lizard?"

"I would argue this is exactly what your expression would look like, if you were bitten by a lizard."

Ophelia went on with her tour of the room but I didn't want to follow, in fear of looking too eager to talk to her. I stayed in front of the painting for a while as I felt the Firewhiskey kicking in for real. Thankfully, I was one of these strange constitutions that never got 'crazy' drunk. If I wasn't blind drunk, I would be relaxed but would otherwise be able to walk straight. Although I was walking with perfect normality, I did notice an urge to talk.

Ophelia lingered more than normal in front of the painting of Salome accepting a John the Baptist's head. Deep inside I was hoping she was taking her time to give me a few minutes to catch up to her again.

_So what, if I talk to her! We are both Slytherins. Everyone can end up hanging out with the wrong sort! She is still a Slytherin!_

"Aggh, nothing is moving in here," I said and let out a little growl. I had to comport myself.

"Didn't you know this was a muggle museum before you walked in? Or did you just pick some pretty building?"

I hadn't thought of this slight detail. This gallery was the last place one would expect to find me. I hadn't thought that this may raise some questions from a fellow wizard or witch. How would I explain this?

In my panic, I just stayed silent.

She went on to the next painting. This time, I shamelessly followed. She took another long pause in front of a depiction of Madonna over her newborn. It must have been a very popular painting; it was attracting many visitors.

"Ugh, another one! It's all the same. I've seen 16 Madonnas and Child so far," I said.

"You're talking about some of the greatest pieces of art in the world."

 _Oh, so she is a real muggle-lover, huh?_ Now I wanted to start a fight again. My emotions were going in spirals, I know. I had gone from angry, to talkative, to relaxed and back to angry again in a few short minutes and I remember noticing it even as it happened. I guess the drink was enough to make me insane.

"You obviously haven't been to a wizard's museum. They are incredible... This is worth nothing," I said proudly. After this Ophelia walked away, almost angrily. I was light-headed enough to follow her lead in room 33.

In the centre of the room, surrounded by portraits, there stood a glass display, presenting two books. The label of the exhibit announced them as old, surviving relics.

"These were written only three centuries ago. Why display that? We have older books in our library for daily use. And that's just Hogwarts!"

"They are precious for the muggles. They can't preserve them with magical ways like we can," she explained calmly.

"Pathetic..." I muttered. She walked away again, casually ignoring my comments. It was moments like this when I realized that someone ignoring you is worse than someone arguing with you. "Again, nothing moving," I shrugged my shoulders and strolled around the room.

"Okay, that's enough!"

Ophelia was now aggravated and decisive. Just as I thought she was going to burst out in shouts, she walked out of the room saying a simple:

"Come with me."

Ophelia led me to the west wing, the pale-blue halls that housed modern art. I noticed that the crowd was getting thicker as we were entering the ward. People with their cameras ready and with looks of anticipation were all walking to room 43.

The art was more abstract here and I doubted how this was going to make me more interested. I was a lover of realism.

"Why is it so crowded in here?" I asked Ophelia.

"It's the exhibition! They brought Vincent Van Gogh!"

"Bless you," I said and met her annoyed eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you sneezed."

To this day I don't know if the small laugh Ophelia let out was directed to my bad joke or to the fact that I didn't know who this artist was.

I soon realized I was laughing at my own joke – and it was not even a particularly good one. Boy, was the alcohol kicking in. I had to comport myself. Why did I think drinking in a museum was a good idea?

"They brought it all the way from MoMA – from New York," she said, ignoring me. "It's what everyone is here to see!" For the first time, I felt some insignificant shred of shame that I didn't know what on earth she was talking about.

Ophelia directed me in front of a rather small painting and the subject of a thousand photographs taken. We waited a long time in order to stand right in front of it in a peaceful moment.

"What do you see?" she asked. "And please whisper. Let's not make it known that you have no idea what you're standing in front of." It seemed that it would be a crime not to know this painting. "Tell me what you see," she insisted when met with my unwilling expression.

"I see..." I took my time.

"I see... bright, glistening stars on a... swirling, moving sky," I finally said.

"The sky isn't moving, Malfoy. The painting is muggle. It's static. It couldn't be moving..." she whispered.

"You know what I mean. It's painted so that you understand it's moving. It's the swirls-"

"Exactly," she said proudly and locked contact with me.

I felt heat rising to my head and I was afraid I was blushing. I don't think I could blame it on being drunk.

"This is the muggle kind of magic," said Ophelia. "They can't wave a wand and make the painting move. But they _can_ draw it with such mastery, that we can imagine the movement."

Suddenly, I was moved, stirred, emotional, for some invisible, inexplicable reason. I didn't like moments of epiphany, but I couldn't deny this one. I tried to keep a straight face.

"Then again, this is just a landscape," she continued. "If you were to go to the place it depicts at night, you wouldn't see anything moving. The stars would be smaller, the sky would be darker... So, what's up with this painting? It doesn't even show the truth. Why is it so popular?"

"Why?" I said almost without controlling it.

"This is Starry Night. Van Gogh drew the view from his bedroom window, while he was in an asylum. He showed us the world not as it is, but as he saw it. As we all see it at times. Moving. Bright. Crazy... Magical."

Van Gogh: the mad man on the poster I'd seen in the Station, the man that had brought me here.

A blue, numb feeling rinsed my body from head to toe. Why did I want to vanish so much?

"The moving paintings of our world are indeed incredible. They draw you in, they capture you. But this? This is more than any moving painting can do," she finally added and walked away at once, this time with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

I fell in love with that starry night. The room was full but I felt alone, only a moon and some stars above me.

For one ghastly second, I thought I actually did see the sky move. At the time, I told myself it was another symptom of my light drinking.

When I woke up from my daydreaming, I searched for Ophelia. I saw her disappearing into room 39 and I made to follow but I gasped when something caught my eye.

"Hey!" I exclaimed. Ophelia stopped at once. She walked back to me to see what I was staring at so aghast.

"Yes?"

"This one is moving!" I watched the man on the portrait blink and smile widely and then wave, happy to see someone was acknowledging him.

"Oh, yes! The painter was a wizard. It was made to move. Of course, the muggles can't see it. They only see one frame of it," explained Ophelia.

I instinctively bowed my head to him but then thought of how stupid I might have looked to the muggles that were passing by.

I took my time to admire the painting, the moving artwork, the strokes and although I should have been filled with excitement that something was finally magical in this Gallery, I was almost let down.

After seeing the subtle magic of Starry Night, this magical portrait didn't seem that special anymore.

Soon I watched Ophelia walking away again. This tour of the museum had made me feel like I was chasing after her all the time and I didn't like that. If it weren't for seeing her approaching the exit, I wouldn't have spoken again.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, I've seen all of this before. I'd fancy a walk around London. It's a lovely day."

"It's cloudy."

"The best way to see London, in my opinion," she argued.

"Sorry, I don't take walks with people who associate themselves with the worst quality of wizards or care about muggle art," I said strictly.

"Well, I never asked you to come, so you're all good."

It was one of these moments that I really wished I disappeared from this world. One of these moments that you remember years later while lying on your bed and are unable to sleep from the vivid feeling of embarrassment.

I watched her walk to the exit without bothering with me. Maybe it was time for a smoke.

* * *


	8. Vanishing Cabinet

O

_August 20th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_I debated with myself over which museum I would visit today. I hadn't been to the British Museum since the last time we went together – one full year that is. I had missed it a lot and after all, it was our annual ritual. In the end, the National Gallery of London won me over. Not only did I not want to miss the Van Gogh exhibition (I heard Starry Night would only stay in London for a few months) but it was also a safer choice. I hope you don't mind._

_Now, thinking about it, I would be better off at the British Museum after all._

_I had never expected to see someone like Draco Malfoy in a muggle museum. When I first saw him, I completely lost it._

_Typically, Draco Malfoy is nothing more or less than the epitome of bullying. In the two years I have been friends with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville, he has never missed a chance to insult, offend, hex or curse. The only reason I ever escaped this was because of the green I wore on my back._

_He was just the same today; insulting and muggle-hating – and you know I have a very low tolerance for those people. I am already regretting even the slightest effort I gave to reason with him. People like him don't feel anything when looking at Van Gogh._

_I know, what you would say, Margot: Ophelia Blackthorn, why would you even try? I know, I know..._

_But I smelled the smoke in his breath as he said his 'hello', I noticed the red, dark circles around his bloodshot eyes. His hair was combed but somewhat not in order, his black shirt had its top buttons undone. Even as he said his insults, you could see the fatigue, the exhaustion, the desperation to connect with someone, anyone._

_Again, Margot, I know what you'd think: Ophelia Blackthorn, do not believe in people. Do not think the best of them. I have lived by this rule all my life and I didn't intend to break this today just because some Malfoy seemed sad._

_I fled the museum and was determined to not even think twice..._

Only when I walked in the fresh, summer air and paused by the entrance for a moment, ready to put my notebook back in my bag and play some music on my cassette player for my walk around London, I noticed black-dressed Malfoy stepping outside as well.

"Don't tell me you're following me because, make no mistake, I will vomit and then summon the Aurors on you," I said quickly.

"Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted a smoke," he said.

I hated it when people evoked some kind of mushy feeling in you. That denial, that rejection, when you know you're at least one of the reasons the other person is there; it makes you feel small; as if you have the biggest idea about yourself. You can smell the lie from a mile away but you have no way of proving it, so in the end, it is _you_ that is the lunatic.

Malfoy took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pulled a cig with his mouth.

"You can't smoke here," I noted.

"It's an open space!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, but you'll have to put it out somewhere, and I won't let you do that on those beautiful columns. There is an ashtray installed on the street," I said.

And so we walked across the marble balcony and to the right staircase. A rather narrow staircase. It was the closest distance we had reached, and only now did I realize that he was a real and live person. When you see him in school, he is a distant ghost. He never touches a soul, if it's not to hit or punch. That myth was debunked when my shoulder brushed against his arm in an easy invasion of space. I should have felt uncomfortable and, knowing me, I might have even done something about it.

"Well, goodbye then," I said when we were in the open of the pavement. I would have said 'see you at school' but I had no intention of attempting any kind of communication after that day.

"Do you happen to have a lighter?" he said before I could leave, the cigarette still dangling between his lips.

"Certainly not," I answered at once.

"Okay. Cover for me for a second," he said and waved for me to come closer. He turned to the wall quickly, pulled out his hawthorn-wood wand and lit a small flame at the tip. He bowed behind my back, so as to cover the magic from muggles' eyes and lit his cigarette. I shuddered, for his hand was still on my arm, keeping me still with my back to his face.

"I can't believe you smoke," I said as I heard him inhaling behind me.

"I don't," he answered, now facing me.

"And what is this?" I said.

"I only do that rarely," he answered casually. "And last time I checked, I didn't ask for your opinion."

He exhaled deeply and almost straight to my face, but in his breath, there was something more than smoke. Was that some kind of bourbon? Maybe it was all in my mind.

As he was taking his first draws, he locked his eyes to a certain point a few feet away from us, just at the top of the grand marble staircase that led to Trafalgar Square. I followed his gaze as I was connecting my earphones to my cassette player; two thickset, tall men were waiting and watching, their eyes fixed straight to Malfoy's. They were dressed in outdated muggle clothing and their wands were showing from their pockets. Aurors.

"Those two seem to have their eye on you..." I said nosily.

"They are Aurors," he muttered.

"This much I figured on my own. Are they following you? Are you a serial killer or something?" I asked. I sensed the matter was more serious than a joke could make it seem. Malfoy dropped his eyes to the ground.

"Very funny," he said unamused. He leaned against the wall and crossed one foot over the other. "No, it's just that my Father is kept by the Ministry until further notice and until then our family has to be followed for two months for precaution measures. Thankfully I'm getting rid of them in a few days," he explained.

It was a rather sophisticated way to say his father was in Azkaban. I saw his upset, slightly embarrassed expression in his avoiding look.

"Oh, yes. It caused quite a stir in the Ministry. My father says it was havoc for a week," I said.

Malfoy kept his focus on his cigarette and refused to add anything to the conversation. Somehow my compassion for this man was rising higher and higher by the minute. It was one of these issues that you would rather not think, in fear of being too strict or too lenient. Part of me found it suitable to take strict precautions against the obvious Death Eaters, but then some other, more tolerant part of me, found it was a little excessive to have a 17-year-old boy followed around. Who would ever assume that a schoolboy such as Malfoy could be a Death Eater?

"Is that why you came to the museum? Did you want to bore them out of following you?" At first I only wanted to break the ice but when met with Malfoy's dark and warning eyes, I very soon realized that this was a place better unvisited.

"Can you, please, not stick your nose into other people's business?" he snapped.

"No need to be mean. Sometimes we all need a Vanishing Cabinet, Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes shot up to mine, as if he was suddenly exposed to some unanticipated danger. For a few seconds, he seemed to have forgotten the cigarette that was slowly burning near the silver, snake ring on his middle finger. If you looked a finger away, you would see another silver ring, this one engraved with the letter M.

"A what?" he asked, looking coldly upon me through narrow eyes.

"A Vanishing Cabinet?" I repeated.

He shrugged, tried to hide his interested face and watched me close my ears with my earphones.

"Well, goodbye again..." I said when faced with the terrible silence. "I guess I'll see you at school."

"See you in the common room," he said. Call me crazy; it sounded like a promise to me. An unreasonably flattered cell in my heart made the whole organ pause for a split second, when I looked at him, in what I thought would be the last locked eye-contact for the day. Was it just me or was Malfoy making a poor attempt at something remotely related to flirting?

"What the hell are you putting in your ears?" he said, ignoring that we had put an end to our conversation a second ago. Oh, it was obvious now; he was just feeling lonely and in need of any kind of conversation. There was something on his face that could be read as disgust as he pointed at my earphones. I bet he was suspecting that it was a muggle artefact.

"It's earphones. Errm... You put them on and you can hear music through them," I explained.

"It's so pathetic that you know this much stuff about the muggles. I mean okay, I get it, it's like seeing a Diricawl for the first time but other than that, I don't understand your obsession." Malfoy flicked the ash off the edge of his cigarette and folded his hands.

"Obsession?"

"Yes. You know everything about them. That guy back in the museum? Van Gough?" he said.

"Van Gogh," I corrected.

"Yeah, exactly, the guy whose name sounds like it got caught in phlegm. Why would you even know that? Why would you look that up when you can learn about-"

"Van Gogh is common knowledge for muggles."

"Yes but you're _not_ a muggle. You're disgracing our own kind by giving them so much importance. If you were a mudblood, it would have made some sense to know all this. But to know it out of pure hobby? Pathetic," Malfoy spat out.

"Can you, please, not use that demeaning term in front of me? And it's not a hobby-"

"Then how do you know all these things?" he interrupted with a snap. "You're not a mudblood," he repeated the word pointedly. "You didn't even grow up in this world."

"I grew up between both worlds, actually," I said and nodded my head proudly.

"What?" he asked, suddenly at a loss of words.

"I'm a half-blood," I said and shrugged my shoulders. "My mother is a muggle. I thought you knew..."

"You're a Slytherin," he said confused.

"By Merlin, you're dense as hell."

Malfoy's jaw stiffened, his lips perched. He sucked his teeth and looked at me with more disgust than I'd ever met in my life. He quickly put out his half-finished cigarette.

With one immediate motion, almost arranged, we both shot in different directions. I crossed the wide pavement and stepped into Trafalgar Square while he went up the stairs hastily and reentered the Gallery.

I was frustrated and confused as I walked to the fountain. When I looked back, I saw him watching from afar, leaning against the far-right column of the balcony, arms crossed and spying with eyes made of hate.

I shook my head and was determined to forget all about it and go on with my day. It wasn't until I reached Northumberland Avenue, that I realized I still had my earphones on but had neglected to hit 'play', lost in my thoughts.

_...Margot, I swear, if I had a time-turner, I would go to the British Museum instead._

_See you soon,  
_ _Ophelia_

* * *


	9. Mother

D

I felt flushed with fever. I could have easily blamed it on the alcohol but some wave of honesty had suddenly hit me; the first and last time in a while.

I watched her walk away from Trafalgar Square and was embarrassed when she noticed me.

I knew the blood status of each and every living thing in Hogwarts, yet this information had managed to escape me. I guess this girl had never kept my attention long enough for me to dive into a full report like I usually did with people. Being a Slytherin lift many suspicions off of her as well; most of the half-bloods and mudbloods usually got sorted in other houses. Although rare, we did have two 50-50 half-bloods – none of which were in our year.

 _She is just a half-blood_. The voice jumped up. _Not even a fucking mudblood. Maybe-_

I stopped myself there.

A half-blood... I wasn't a fool. I always knew that most of the wizard families had some drop of mud in them nowadays. Traditionally, if you weren't a mudblood, a half-blood or a quarter-blood, you were considered a full-on pureblood. Half-bloods and quarter-bloods were nowhere near as respectful as a pureblood, but at least they were acceptable in our circles when they became full loyal servants to the Dark Lord.

But Ophelia? She was the epitome of muggle-love. She was friends with mudbloods and blood-traitors. She knew every painting in this ghastly, muggle Gallery. She admired this good-for-nothing art. She wore these wires in her ears and wrote with a muggle ballpoint pen. She was a traitor, a sleazy, good-for-nothing traitor.

If a half-blood ever had a chance to deserve any kind of appreciation, she had ruled herself out.

I cursed the few seconds that I had thought she was worthy of my time, just because she was a Slytherin. She didn't deserve my time. I looked forward to the moment I would kill Dumbledore and the Dark Lord could finally take over the world. Maybe then we would be purged of these abominations.

And now, I would forget all about her just like last time; just like in my fourth year, when she had briefly caught my eye at the Ball. I had simply learned about the people she associated herself with and forgot about her in a blink of an eye. I was caught in the same situation right now and there was no point in lying to myself; I had momentarily noticed her existence in a museum, moments before I had learned about her blood-status and general alignment. Now, just as easily as last time, I would forget.

I didn't even like her, anyway.

I walked around the medieval halls totally uninterested. It was midday now, and I knew that, if I went back to see Starry Night, the tourists would have overflown the room. However, my feet drove me almost involuntarily towards room 43. After all, the painting wasn't half bad and who knew, if it would be the last time in decades that it would be exhibited in London?

I even bought myself a notebook from the gift shop. The cover was vivid blue and yellow, three dimensional and anaglyph. _Just a notebook,_ I thought.

Which raised the question again: what could Ophelia have been writing to that old notebook of hers?

I tried to trace my thoughts back to the moment I had heard that scribbling noise on the yellowish paper. I remembered it almost clearly now; she was writing a letter. To one of her loathsome friends, no doubt.

For all this, I had no one to blame but myself. I had let my loneliness run ahead of me. Emotion was running thick in my blood nowadays and, if I wanted this year to run smoothly, I couldn't let anything like this get in my way.

_No emotions from now on, Draco. You need no soul._

I bought another Starry Night notebook from the gift shop, just in case I run out of pages, or so I told myself.

 _Back to normal, now, Draco_ , I reminded myself. I left, smoked, drunk that night, and eventually forgot.

* * *

I spent my entire Wednesday in our library.

Bella would provocatively come and go, distracting me from my research. Mother would scoff that I had spent yet another day not talking to anyone but at least she was happy I stayed in the house instead of running off to some random city or other.

_We all need a Vanishing Cabinet sometimes._

The girl had read through me like an open book. I shook my head, hoping that a physical gesture could drive the thoughts away, and kept on reading.

I considered my plan for a long while. If I wanted to make this work, I would need support after I killed Dumbledore. I thought about every aspect of it. I even wrote it on a piece of paper – and then burned it, of course. It seemed risky but somehow foolproof. It was something Dumbledore would never think to check. I wasn't anywhere near to deciding how I would eventually kill him but at least I was getting closer.

After nightfall, I knocked on my mother's door. I knew that Bella and she would have already started their light nightcap.

"Yes, Draco?" Mother was pouring herself a glass of wine.

Bella was sitting clumsily on the floor. She was slouching over her crossed feet, playing with the curls in front of her eyes. It was _her_ reaction that I feared the most because the flawlessness of a plan showed in how many holes she could poke through it.

"I think I have a plan," I said hesitantly.

"Not the poison thing again. It's never going to work!" shouted Bella and let herself lay back on the green, Persian carpet.

"I haven't decided how I'm going to do it yet. But if we want to take over Hogwarts, we have to find a way to bring more Death Eaters in. So, I was thinking-"

"I doubt that..." scoffed Bellatrix. Mother quickly gave her a sharp look. She was getting more impatient with her constant demeaning me nowadays.

"-a Vanishing Cabinet."

Bella shot up and seemed suddenly interested, fascinated. "Oh!" she said with a hint of surprise. "And how do you suggest we bring a bloody Vanishing Cabinet in Hogwarts? Will you throw one in your backpack right next to your lunch box?"

"I can find one in the castle," I said reassuringly. "Leave that to me."

If I had learned anything during my fifth year in Hogwarts, it was how many opportunities I had lost by being oblivious of the existence of the Room of Requirement. Dumbeldore's Army might have been a humiliation to the school as much as it was a fiasco, but at least now I was sure that, if I really needed something, I could find it in the room where Potter and his friends met to conspire.

"Well done, Draco." Mother stood and walked to me. She put a hand against my cheek and finally seemed proud.

"Can we find one?" I asked.

"The Ministry broke all connections after the First War. And even if we found one, we will have to fix it," explained Mother.

"Leave everything to me. _Can we find one_?" I insisted.

The sisters were possibly, thankfully, taken aback by how self-assured I suddenly seemed.

"Well, I think we can arrange something with Borgin, can't we Bella?"

"You will have to bribe your way out of the Aurors before you go to Knockturn Alley and who knows how many fortunes that is going to take..." Bellatrix added condescendingly.

"The trial said we would be followed for two months. On Sunday it's the 25th. We can arrange an appointment at Borgin and Burkes for Monday evening," said Mother.

"Well, that is _if_ he can find a Vanishing Cabinet. There are only one or two left," added Bellatrix.

"I think we can do it," continued Mother.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. She was always anxious that I should succeed. If anyone ever put direct pressure on me during that terrible year it was her. Mother could subtly pressure me from time to time, but nothing compared to the demeaning looks Bella gave you. If someone wanted to see me kill Dumbledore, it was Bella. But at the same time, whenever I had a breakthrough, she would try to poke holes in my effort. Of course, I knew it was her deep-seated need to see you miserable.

"Finally, the boy got his brain back!" sang Bella and dived back to the carpet comfortably.

"Bella!" exclaimed Mother.

I was ready to return to my room. I had no energy to spare for another fight with Bella and I hadn't smoked all day. I wanted to go to my balcony so as to protect my room from any smells that my mother would definitely pick up and enjoy my night the only way I knew how.

"Mother..." I said before I left.

"Yes?" she said. I liked seeing her content for the first time this summer.

"What do we know about the Blackthorns?" I asked hesitantly. I contemplated asking this because asking would prove my interest. However, I couldn't help but satisfy my curiosity.

"The Hufflepuffs?" said Bella from the back of the room. "All of them blood-traitors. The most polluted blood there is, if you ask me. I remember some Blackthorn from our years in Hogwarts. Phineas used to be friends with Andromeda," she said and snored loudly. After a brief moment of annoyance, she laid back down.

"Wasn't it through Phineas that Andromeda met Tonks?"

"Ah!" Bella yelled and sat up at once. "That mudblood shit! I hoped to never hear his name again! Yes, Tonks was best friends with Phineas Blackthorn in Hufflepuff! All the traitors stick together. Of course, later, I heard that he himself married a muggle. Ugh!" Bellatrix growled. "And now I hear he has a chair in some office in the Ministry of Magic. They really do let _anyone_ in. I'm telling you, when the Dark Lord takes the Ministry over, these traitors will be the first to go. Them and their muggle friends..."

The puzzle was forming in front of me. Phineas, the man working at the Ministry and close friends to the prodigal Black sister, was no other than Ophelia's father. It was true that the Blackthorn name had been heavily connected with the house of Hufflepuff in my mind but they were not even remotely related to some honourable branch of the families of the Sacred 28, so I never gave them much thought. They must have popped up out of nowhere through a mudblood some generations ago.

My familiarly resentful feelings were thankfully coming back quickly. Every time I thought of a mudblood I imagined the inside of their veins. The blood there ran thin and brownish or black compared to my vibrant scarlet. The next time I brought Ophelia's image to my mind, all I saw was blood as muddy as dirt after rainfall. Blood black and as thin as water.

"Okay, Bellatrix," said Mother with a bored look. She didn't seem to disagree but rather acted like she had heard this a thousand times over.

"You better hurry, Draco!" sung Bellatrix in a tune. "The quicker you kill the old man, the quicker we will get your father back, and then the quicker we will get the Ministry. We have so much work to do!"

Mother seemed to be partly ignoring her sister's rant on the purity of the Ministry and had focused on my face. When I realized that her eyes were examining me, it might have been too late; I might have already formed a miserable expression on my face.

"Why are you asking, Draco?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

And I was already out the door.

* * *

The scar was burning abnormally that night. I thought I should give my new bottle of rum a try but after last night, I didn't want to push my body to the limits.

I curled my body in a ball and tried to forget about the pain. I was in desperate need to cry – I knew I would release some tension. But the more I tried to force myself, the harder it became to shed any tears.

I opened my mother's door like I did when I was a child.

When I was little, I always thought that terrible monsters were hiding in my closet. I would run into my parents' room in tears, but I was careful not to make much noise because I knew Father never tolerated tears. Mother would console me and tell me that, if any monster dared to hurt me, she would curse them until they left me alone. We always had a few minutes before Father woke up and shot me back in my room, telling me not to be such a coward. _Big boys don't cry_.

Now, I tiptoed just as silently. I sat beside my mother and she opened her eyes at once. One would think her instincts told her something was wrong with her child.

"Draco?"

"It hurts too much tonight..." I confessed.

Mother sat up and dragged her tired hand back and forth against my back – such a familiar feeling.

"They are having a meeting tonight," she said in a soft voice.

I hardly ever saw Mother without any paint on her face and I sometimes forgot that, as I was getting older, so was she. I could see her first wrinkles appearing. Maybe it was because of anxiety and turmoil.

"It hurts more than it did when I first got it. I thought it would go away..."

Mother didn't have the power to answer that. How could she tell her own son that it would never get better? This mark would be on me forever.

"Mother..." I started. "I'm sorry for this summer. I know I was a bit lost-" I could only imagine what she was going through herself. Her husband was in Azkaban and her son was ready to walk into a suicide mission. I felt selfish that I ever shut her away.

"Don't you apologize, sweetheart. I understand. You needed time..." she interrupted and placed me in an embrace.

"I will not disappoint you, Mother," I tried to keep my voice steady but I would break when I heard her trembling breath near my ear.

"Oh, I know, Draco." She broke the embrace and looked at me with glistening eyes. She wiped away a tear that was hanging from her eyelashes and let out a smile. Although she often showed her emotional side in front of me, I rarely ever saw my mother crying. "The idea about the Vanishing Cabinet was very smart. How did you think about that?"

"It just came up."

I let her sleep in silence but I couldn't find the strength to head back to my room. When I was a child, Father never allowed me to sleep with them, so it was too sweet of a chance to pass up. I sat on an armchair a few feet away from the bed and I think my presence soothed both of us.

I dreamt.

_"She is my sister, Lucius! Please!"_

_Mother would shout and scream like crazy every time the two of them had a row and even though their bedroom was not even close to mine, you could hear Father's growls loud and clear._

_"Don't you dare make excuses for yourself, Narcissa. You should have kicked her out the moment she knocked on our door. That useless whore had the audacity to come in here and instead of sending her back to the gutter, where she belongs, you serve her tea! And you let Draco play with that bastard kid of hers! Have you gone completely insane? Oh, by Merlin, if he is ever again allowed to-"_

_"Lucius, don't bring Draco into this!" Mother defended me from afar._

_"Well, yes, of course! If he is half as dumb as you think he is, then you're twice as useless as a mother!" Father hissed._

_"Don't-" Mother's voice was weak against the few words that could sting her._

_"I know what you're trying to do, you worthless bitch! You're making him soft; you're making him a fucking wuss. I told you he would have nothing to do with these worthless low-lives! Allowing that whore within a mile from us is one thing. But letting that little half-blood shit play with our son?"_

_I had heard very few things about Aunt Andromeda and Nymphadora and all of them were bad._

_In my short 5 years, I had no brother or sister, I had no close cousins or friends. I had made a quick attempt to befriend the house-elves but I soon realized these friendships were not worth the punishments I got when they were discovered._

_So when I saw little Nymphadora, next to my forgotten, tearstained Aunt, who was desperately knocking at the door of the Manor, I was instantly overwhelmed with happiness. 'Narcissa, please. I have no one else to turn to,' said Aunt Andromeda but it was something quickly forgotten by the innocent spirit that had overcome both Nymphadora and me._

_Nymphadora was a few years older and soon said she preferred being called by her last name – Tonks. At the time, I didn't understand why, but I didn't care either, because she knew how to fly a broomstick better than me and I was eager to make her my tutor. Our mothers allowed us to use some spare broomsticks while they had some 'grown-up talk to do'. Tonks showed me many tricks but I was still afraid when I flew little over 10 feet, so she didn't pressure me. I thought that we would meet more often after this but she never returned._

_"And what did you expect me to do? Andromeda wouldn't have come here if it wasn't urgent. Ted is sick!" Mother's voice was weak from holding back tears – maybe she was already crying._

_"Do you think that I give a damn shit about that mudblood scum?" Father raged._

_"Lucius, don't be mad about it. He is my sister's husband. My niece's father! She only asked for a hundred Galleons. That was nothing for us!" I heard Mother's most begging whisper._

_"You mean to say that you already gave her the money?" Father bellowed. If Father had been furious to learn his son was playing with a muggle-lover, he was now beyond insane._

_Silence._

_And then bang!_

_A slap, then a low thud against the wall or some furniture, and a muffled scream._

_Even as a 5-year-old, I knew better than to run through the corridor, open their bedroom door without knocking (which was one of the most forbidden things up until then). But I couldn't help it. Some furious force was driving me to my parents' bedroom._

_I saw Mother on the floor. The pale skin on her right cheek was red and swollen and now the left side of her face, from the temple to the cheekbone, was developing a red and purple colour._

_Father was lost as he saw me running to her._

_"Mummy!" I shouted._

_"Draco," ordered Father in a cold-calm tone. "Back to your room," he said warningly._

_"No!" I shouted at him. I kneed beside my mother and had the intention of comforting her._

_I felt like I could have done more for her but at the time the only thing I could do was slightly touch her, hoping to transfer some strength for her to get up and somehow fight. But she couldn't even look at me. She tried to put on a strong face for me, as if nothing was happening, but all she ended up doing was hiding her face so that I wouldn't see the warm tears that were trickling down her face._

_"Back to your room!" repeated Father._

_With a violent pull from the collar of my shirt, Father forced me to stand on my feet._

_"Lucius! Leave Dray alone!" It was now that Mother was completely awakened from her state of motionlessness. She stood up and tried to snatch me from Father's hands but with one violent push in the stomach, Mother was on the floor again and Father was freely pushing me out the door._

_"Mummy!"_

_Father tried to bang the door shut. I spread my arm, as a last effort to reach for my mother, so the door met my forearm. Father didn't care. He mindlessly pushed the door closed once more, this time with more force, and my hand was caught again painfully. Father didn't pay much attention when I screamed in agony. He shoved my swollen arm out of the way, shut the door hastily, and locked it._

_I didn't hear much after that. To this day I haven't forgiven myself for thinking more about the pain on my forearm and not that much about what was happening behind that locked door._

_Mother had to conceal her bruises for a month. I thought we would leave after this, but we never did. Her spirit broke and so did my wild idea that I could ever save my poor mother from my Father's hands._

I watched Mother fall asleep. The remains of a bruise on her elbow, that I had noticed at the beginning of the summer, had now disappeared. I was wondering if there was even some small part in her, that was glad Father was in Azkaban.

I raised my right sleeve. Where there was a bruise from the closing of the door when I was 5 years old, there now were cuts.

* * *


	10. Beginning

O

_August 25th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_It's always bittersweet when summer comes to its end. An inevitable melancholy consumes me every time I have to leave my family, and this time I can feel it more than any other summer._

_During my first years in Hogwarts, summer holidays were very enjoyable. Although Hogwarts was always a place that fed my old soul, I didn't have any friends. I easily got homesick. I missed my family – and you, of course, Margot._

_Things slightly changed during my fourth year, when I started spending more time with Harry and Neville. Please, do not assume I think less of our friendship – I know it irks you when I talk about my friends from Hogwarts. I miss you every day, Margot. But I hope you are happy that I go back to a school that I fully enjoy and that I don't feel lonely in._

_Maybe it will be easier to forget there. During the summer I didn't have the strength to talk to any of my friends but now that I'm going back to Hogwarts, I'll have to, want it or not. I consider this both a curse and a blessing; a curse because I dread the moment I will have to fake a smile in front of my friends and a blessing because, if I don't force myself to smile, I doubt I'll ever feel happy again._

_But sometimes, I wonder if that's what I truly want. I know myself. If I ever feel happy again, it will be happiness full of guilt._

_Tomorrow it's Monday and it's past time I bought my supplies and books for this year. I heard Fred and George recently opened a joke shop that is going really well. Maybe I could find something to accompany the Herbology Encyclopedia I got Neville for his birthday. Of course, his birthday was at the end of July, and although I know he was perfectly satisfied with my birthday card, I want to give him a memorable present when I meet him._

_I know what you would say; You're compensating your absence with presents, Ophelia. Yes, I know, Margot. You're right..._

Sometimes I stared at the blank page and didn't know what to write to her. I didn't know what I was supposed to be feeling.

_...Margot, I feel like I'm letting you down._

_I think about all our memories together. Those carefree summer days and ballet sessions. Remember when we begged Mrs Petrova for the keys for the classroom so that we could practice on Sundays? We couldn't get the pointe shoes off, and we bled so much that day but we did manage to nail our triple pirouettes. I miss those days._

_Maybe we should meet again and dance all night like the good old times. Would you like that?_

_I don't want to go to Hogwarts and forget about us..._

Sometimes I didn't know what else to write to her. I didn't want to explain my day in too much detail, in fear of looking too deep into my thoughts, so I would enchant the paper and store my memories in a spell. It was easier than writing – and less painful. Now, if I used the right spell and touched the paper, I could see my day right before my eyes.

Just as I was about to wave my wand over the paper and start my 'recording' of my day, I heard a discreet tap on my window. A snowy owl was sitting on the ledge and tapping the glass with its beak. Alaska landed easily on my bed and hissed loudly, her black fur getting fuzzy and her tail standing up warningly. Alaska never liked owls which often created problems between her and Hedwig.

"Ophelia! Dinner is ready!" I heard my mother calling from the kitchen but I could also hear something sizzling in the pan. My mother always did that – she would announce dinner way before it was ready.

I figured I had a few minutes. I took Alaska in my arms and let her outside the room. Since my cat was not very friendly, I had to close the door before opening the window to take the letter off Hedwig's beak and read it.

I must admit, I was not looking forward to this.

_Dear Ophelia,_

_I hope you're well – actually, please write back and confirm you're indeed okay because I'm starting to freak out._

_I am with the Weasleys for the last week before Hogwarts and I thought that I would find you here, just like last year. Hermione says she has been sending letters as well but that you hardly ever reply, even though your father told Mr Weasley that you're at home and well. Ron said he passed by the café on his way to the twins' new joke shop one day but didn't see you there. Is everything okay?_

_In any case, I hope you will answer this time because I have a very practical question. Tomorrow we are all going to Diagon Alley. We really want to see the twins' shop and we thought we should stop by the_ Coffee Bean _at about 3 o'clock in case you would like to come. I hope you do._

_We miss you._

_Love,  
_ _Harry_

My heart was racing, my palms were getting clammy and sweat was transferring to the paper. I opened the window wider to let some air inside the room but the mellow summer night didn't have a lot to offer.

_Relax. Relax._

The more I said it, the less effective it was. What was I going to say? How was I going to explain to Harry, Hermione, Ron or even Neville why I completely disappeared for two months?

Now my hands were shaking and, shit, I was creasing the paper! I had to stop. The letter dropped from my hands and I involuntarily threw my head back, thinking it would help with my breathing.

I tried concentrating on something small in my room. I think the first thing I saw in front of me was a quill, so I tried only looking at the feather until the bad thoughts could take a step back. When I could breathe freely again, I flipped Harry's letter over and scribbled down my hasty answer, accepting the invitation. I let Hedwig hold the letter in her beak and watched the owl vanish towards the west.

I heard the front door open and then shut again. Dad came back from the Ministry and I could hear him talking about some awful news to Mum. I overheard a newspaper slamming on the counter. Another hard day of work.

"Ophelia!"

"Coming, Mum!"

Mum had put some classical music on the record player. She had just discovered some old vinyl in the attic and was determined to find which one was her favourite before summer was out. She had also started cleaning our library, the one that was taking most of the wall behind the fireplace, and so the whole house was taken over by books. Of course, she did it in a very muggle way, so it would take half a week more. Maybe I should stay up all night and try to sort all those books in genres – since that was a better option than lying in bed, sleepless as always.

And with that thought, I was calm again.

When I walked downstairs and sat myself at the dinner table, I noticed Dad's cloudy look.

"Oh, shoot, I forgot the water!" Mum shot up, a second after settling in her seat. She was still wearing her apron and seemed tired from her day at the coffee shop.

"I'll fetch some!" said Dad and whipped out his wand.

"No! Let me!" I said.

Swish and flick – a bottle of water flew from the kitchen counter straight to my hand. I then flicked my wand again and made the bottle levitate over the glasses, filling them up.

Mum clapped her hands excitedly. Although she had lived with a wizard half her life, it always amazed her to see _me_ doing magic. Maybe it was because she had gotten used to me without a wand for the better part of a decade.

"You're getting good with the nonverbals. Only don't abuse magic! You know you're supposed to use it only for educational reasons outside of Hogwarts," said Dad strictly.

"Mastering a nonverbal spell _is_ an educational reason. The Ministry can fight me in this one!"

"Cheater!" said Mum sunnily.

In any other case, performing magic in front of a muggle would be illegal. Thankfully, that didn't count for those married to a witch or wizard and the parents of magical children, otherwise, I would be in deep trouble at the moment.

Dad quickly returned to his silent concerns.

"Harry sent me a letter. We are all going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get our books for the new year," I announced, sure they would have no problem with me meeting my friends tomorrow. The café was only a minute away from the Leaky Cauldron after all and they often let me wander alone nearby. "Of course, I'll help at the café in the morning."

On Mondays, Linus, our helpful barista, started his shift at 12, so I usually filled in his place, while Mum worked on baking at the back of the shop. I usually always stayed for a bit longer, just because of the lack of things to do during a lazy summer.

"Oh-oh! Can _I_ come? I will be done with baking before noon and I bet Linus can handle the shop for a couple of hours," said Mum cheerily. Although Mum had been hopping back and forth between the magical and the muggle world for almost twenty years, it never ceased to excite her when she had the chance to fully immerse herself into our world. Maybe it made her feel more like a witch at heart.

"Mum..." I said unexcited. "I don't think anyone's parents are going to be with us tomorrow. We are 16 after all..." I said hesitantly. It pained me to deny her a pleasure so pure and innocent.

"Oh, alright..." she said, trying to hide her disappointment.

Dad still had the newspaper at the corner of the table and was absorbed in his reading while cutting his meat.

"Phin." Mum awakened him.

"Sorry, what were we talking about?" he said, throwing looks between us, still lost in his thoughts.

"No newspaper during dinner," Mum reminded him. It was Dad's habit to never do just one thing at a time. If he was eating, he had to be reading something at the same time; if he was drinking his morning coffee, he had to be occupied with reading the news. He quickly obliged with an honest smile and set the newspaper aside.

"Everything alright, Dad?"

"Yes, yes. Everything's alright..." he said. He put a hand against his forehead so as to indicate a headache.

"Did you read something on the news?" I asked.

"Please, Ophelia. It's nothing you should worry about," he said and breathed out.

"Phin. I think we should share this with Ophelia," said Mum. Dad gave her a discreet look of disapproval that honestly came out funny instead of scary. Dad was not an intimidating man. Mum looked back unyieldingly. "She can't leave without us talking to her..." she added.

Although it might work in the opposite way in most families, Dad was always the one who preferred looking away from a problem, if it meant not troubling me. Mum on the other hand liked to be more straightforward with the harsh reality we were facing.

"Alright then..." he said. "Apparently, there have been some abductions. Ever since You Know Who's return became common knowledge, the Death Eaters have been becoming more aggressive."

"Who got abducted? Not anyone we know, of course."

"No. No. It was a married couple and a newborn. It was a muggle couple but the baby girl was registered as a witch under the Ministry. A muggle-born. We have no idea about their whereabouts," Dad continued.

"Dear God, help them..." muttered Mum and shook her head.

"Well, if the Death Eaters got them, there is not much hope," said Dad with a desperate shake of his head. "It's a tragedy. And of course, the situation today at the Ministry was hectic. We have all sorts of problems with the Muggle Prime Minister ever since the terror attack at the Millennial Bridge and with the press..."

I was sure, however, that this was not the biggest cause of concern for either Mum or Dad. After all, we heard news of abductions all the time throughout the summer and, as tragic as it was, it was nothing out of the ordinary for times like these.

"What does this mean about us?"

My eyes were fixed on Dad's.

"So far, it seems we are safe. But things could turn sour at any second. We talked with your mum last night," he said, catching a glimpse of my mother and holding her hand across the table, "and we agreed that we have to be ready for everything."

I nodded slowly and tried to breathe normally.

"We _might_ have to go into hiding, Ophelia," added Mum, always jumping straight into the core of issues.

I was there, seeing it all as it was happening. I was there when Harry looked at me terrified and told me You Know Who was back. I had believed him at once when he said Cedric was killed before his own eyes. I had cried. I was there to see him fighting against all odds when no one believed him. I had fought with the Dumbledore's Army next to Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville, despite the snobby eyes of those who didn't want a Slytherin in the Room of Requirement and the high chances of getting expelled. I had seen Harry coming back from the Ministry, in tears, when he lost his godfather a few months ago.

Yet the war had never felt closer to home. My own parents had been caught in it. Suddenly I was more terrified than when I had seen Umbridge lean over my desk to threaten me by saying that, if I didn't tell her everything I knew about my Gryffindor friends, my father would lose his job at the Ministry within a week.

I spread my hands across the table and held my parents' hands so firmly, that I had to hold myself back from hurting them.

"Of course, I talked with Albus after our meeting with the Order last Saturday. We agreed that, if need be, he will let you out of Hogwarts and into hiding with us."

"Is there anything you want me to do? Any way I can help?" I said.

"If you could stay our sassy, funny daughter, that would be perfect," said Mum with a warm smile.

"We know it was a rough summer, swan queen..." said Dad with a crooked smile. "We don't want to burden you with more worries. After all, this is an option we might not ever have to open. Focus on your studies – focus on yourself – and we will take care of the rest."

_...I am starting to reminisce about the easy, old times of my first years in Hogwarts – not much care in the world. I am watching the world getting darker, Margot, and I am not sure if we are anywhere near the end. It feels more like the beginning._

_S_ _ee you soon,  
_ _Ophelia_

* * *


	11. Mr Insult

O

_August 26th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_I spent the better part of my morning helping Mum and at the coffee shop until Linus showed up and I could retrieve back in my corner, while occasionally taking some orders and serving some coffee._

_Today is another cloudy day at Leadenhall Market, and the temperatures are slowly dropping as the summer comes to an end, which only makes the lazy students and the few, smart businessmen, who are spending their vacation in London, want to switch from a cold beverage to a hot one. Our small café in Leadenhall Market never fails to please the silent bookworm._

_I remember last summer when we were entirely crippled by boredom and forced Linus to teach us how to make every hot, autumnal beverage on the menu. You always liked the apple cinnamon latte and was always concerned with how many calories are in it. I still drink it whenever I'm lonely, even when it's too hot outside. I miss you so much, Margot..._

I was bent over the counter, my notebook wide open in front of me, when I saw a paper straw landing on the page before me, stopping me mid-sentence. It was for the best - the day was still young and not much had happened that I wanted to write about yet - but I was still annoyed.

"Ophelia! I am starting to doubt if you're actually here to help! Get to work, lazy pants."

Linus' dark eyes narrowed as he jumped from the paper-cup holder to the coffee machine. A bit of sweat was glistening on his forehead as he was frantically walking to and fro, making the orders.

"Sod off, Linus!" I scoffed and watched him giggle at my rudeness.

"Customer at table 4," he said and nudged to its general direction.

I took the order, made tea for the old ladies and returned to my previous, blue state.

Soon, the busy Monday turned into a slow-moving afternoon. I was waiting at the cash-desk, lost in some thoughts when I heard the bell over the door ring. I had my eyes fixed at a spot on the black and white tiled floor and when I saw the three pairs of legs showing up in my peripheral vision, I mechanically took a paper cup and my pen.

"Welcome to the _Coffee Bean_. What can I get you?" I said in some admittedly sombre tone.

"Is this how you greet customers? I thought this place was friendly!" said a familiar voice. I threw my eyes up to be met with the freckled face and the wide smile. Right next to him, another head with flaming locks and then in the back, green eyes behind round glasses.

"Ron! Did you grow taller? It's only been two months! How can this be?"

Ron was always the type who hugs you no matter what the occasion. It was his virtue and one that he had learned to exercise only in rare cases when it came to me, aware that I was not a touchy person. This time, however, it was the right chance to embrace me. He towered so much over me compared to our last hug, that I had to get on my toes before Ron unexpectedly lifted me up for a squeezed twirl.

"We missed you at the Burrow!" he said.

Ginny, with whom we didn't spend too much time at Hogwarts, was distantly friendly and gave me a wide, warm smile.

Then came the moment that I most dread. Harry Potter approached and gave me one of his rare hugs. Although he was a fairly warm person, not especially afraid of physical contact, he rarely initiated any embrace. We were similar in that particular manner.

His embrace was strained - he was in front of Ginny after all and I knew that he double-checked every move but secretly wished she could be jealous.

"Harry..." I breathed out.

"We were worried," he said calmly. Disappointing Harry was something hard to do and easy to regret.

"I'm sorry..."

"You only sent two letters. All summer!" he said, his eyebrows curling. "What happened?"

"Let's talk about it some other time, Harry," I whispered. I could have made an excuse. I would have said an oh-so-typical 'I was really busy'. However, I felt bad enough that I'd been absent during a very difficult time for Harry and I didn't want to top that off with a lie. "Where is Hermione?" I continued.

"She is waiting at the Leaky Cauldron. We should go meet her."

With the corner of my eye, I caught Mum hopping out of the kitchen with a wet towel in her hands and a flowered apron around her waist.

"I was sure I heard someone!" she said and tried to collect her wild hair. She always held her hair in a bun while working but some baby hair was always sticking out - we had that in common. She greeted each friend with a wide smile.

"You will be okay, right?" whispered Mum. I think deep inside she must have felt I was utterly uncomfortable being with my friends after all this time. Through my eyes, she could see I was getting emotional and probably wondered what the best way to support me would be.

"Mum..." I said, slightly embarrassed.

"Okay, okay... Have fun then!" she said and returned to her cooking.

The four of us walked out of the shop and onto the pavement that led to the heart of Leadenhall Market. A few doors away from our café was the infamous Leaky Cauldron, a mouldy, old inn and the closest passage we had to Diagon Alley. As we were getting closer, I began to recognize the frizzy, curly hair.

"What took you so long?" said Hermione and frowned, primarily and inexplicably only to Ron. "Ophelia!" she shouted at once when I stepped forward. "Has anyone told you that quills and owls have a use?" She embraced me softy and lightened my mood with a laugh. I was beginning to suspect I would get more of these comments as the day progressed. I never expected reappearing after a summer of absence without attracting some attention of sorts.

"Well, yes, I was really busy. You know how many essays Snape assigned. I was studying all summer!" I said.

Although this was a poor excuse, it ought to set Hermione's school-oriented mind in action, and so began half an hour of discussing our essays for the summer, new classes, books that we had read over the summer and so on. As we were buying our new books, Hermione and I acknowledged a progressively growing anxiety over our N.E.W.T. exams and made an annual plan of waking up every morning at 6 o'clock and studying for at least two hours before breakfast.

Over the summer, many businesses had closed down. Ollivanders' windows had been shattered, a small ice-cream shop that was previously owned by a muggle-born wizard, had now been destroyed. The people around us seemed scared to go from one shop to the other. Ever since the Death Eaters had started their public and loud abductions, some people were afraid of even leaving their houses. In the now almost abandoned street, there was only one shop that sprang some joy to the passer-by.

 _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ was the new shop everyone was talking about. It attracted every witch and wizard like a magnet. During my years in Hogwarts, Fred and George had been the two pranksters that brought joy and questionably safe tricks in the Hogwarts halls, but I had never imagined that the school legends would turn their pranks into their career. Every honest Slytherin would admire this.

Harry and Ron were bargaining the price of Vanishing powders, the second years had a preference for sick and fever pastilles, while the girls flocked around the bright pink stand with love potions. Ginny had exciting news to whisper to Hermione and me, while we were examining the heart-shaped vails.

"I don't think I'll go close to that," she said. "I might be meeting Dean later after all..." She put the Love Potion back in its place. Ginny was either unexcited or knew really well how to play cool when talking about boys. I was leaning towards the latter.

"Really!" gasped Hermione.

"I didn't know about Dean and you!" I said in a whisper. I secretly disapproved of that new school romance - I couldn't see Ginny with anyone else but Harry.

"Hello, ladies!" The twins showed up from each side and squished the three of us closer to the pink stand.

"Love potions, eh? Yeah, they really do work!" said George.

"You should get one, Ophelia. It's very powerful! Just in case someone catches your eye-" said Fred when he saw me still holding the vial with the hot pink, sparkling liquid.

"-just before the world implodes," cut in George with a peal of laughter.

"Yes, George, I might need a few more signs of the world coming to an end before I buy a love potion!"

I let out a laugh and put the flask down. The twins knew perfectly well that, if there was something I would never buy in this shop, it was a love potion. It was becoming common knowledge that no boy had caught my eye for more than a week in my five years in Hogwarts - nor had I ever been the romantic interest of anyone. At first, I was a little ashamed that I had never been on a date in my life but soon I learned how to laugh about it.

I took a step back and made my way to the top floor. Much to my dismay, Harry was now looking at a Self-Writing Quill.

"That ought to make homework easier..." I said mindlessly and wore a nearby Headless Hat. My head became invisible along with the hat, so Harry jumped up in terror when he realized a headless girl was talking to him. It was only when I took the hat off that he relaxed with a laugh.

"You startled me!" he said and returned to the Self-Writing Quill. He was now looking for a price tag.

"You know you can make this on your own..." I said. "Mine lasted for ages before the spell wore off," I took the box off his hands and put it back in its place. Harry narrowed his eyes for a moment.

"Nah, I'm too lazy for that. It's a very good price as well," he said and picked up the box stubbornly.

"But that's stupid! I just told you, you don't need it!" The box ended up travelling back and forth between our hands and Harry was looking confused as to what my motives might be.

"Do _you_ want _this_ Quill? Is that what it's all about? Because as you can see they have plenty," he said and crossed his hands over his chest.

"Harry Potter, I merely mean to save you some money!"

Harry pursed his lips.

"It really shows that you got me a Self-Writing Quill for my birthday," he said proudly and turned around for his big exit.

"Damn it..." I silently followed him to the nearby case that held furry, fluffy pygmy puffs in silver cages.

"It's very kind of you to remember," he said. "You didn't need to buy me a present..."

"Of course I remembered, Harry. And of course, I would buy you a gift."

Something in what I had said must have caused a chain of thoughts and reactions in Harry's mind and I could easily see that by the way he was looking at his shoes. He tried to put a smile on his face but he only managed to press his lips in a narrow line.

"I am very sorry I wasn't here this summer, Harry..." I said.

It might have come out of the blue but at that moment it was the only thing that I wanted to say. When I looked at him I only saw how let down he was. He was dealing with more than any person our age could handle and the least I could have done was send a letter, meet him for a coffee, go for a walk with him. I regretted getting too caught up with my own thoughts. It was this attitude that had pushed me to the situation I was now - I cursed myself for doing it again.

"It's alright," he said. His voice was steady and it proved his honesty. "I just don't understand-"

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe very clearly, like there was smoke or too much humidity in the room. I pulled my shirt away from my neck in a desperate need for some air but it was getting too hot in this shop.

"It's neither the time nor the place for this. I promise we will talk later," I said uncomfortably.

"Was it because we didn't take you with us that night at the Ministry? I told you, it was not intentional. And you should be happy you weren't there but safe at Hogwarts."

Although for a short period of time, it had stung that no one had thought of me as good enough of a friend to let me help them on their pursuit to save Sirius on that fearsome night, I was neither petty nor stupid enough to hold a grudge over something like this.

"No, Harry. How could you think that?"

"Then why did you disappear for two whole months?"

"Let's talk about it later." I had to look down to hide my red face but the very motion of lowering my chin was blocking my throat. "Now excuse me, I think someone called - I - maybe I should - I -"

And when I was done with this poor excuse for avoidance, I was almost running away, walking down the steps two at a time and pushing the red door open to escape the joke shop.

The Alley was now almost empty and the night was slowly falling. All the shops were closing and the few remaining customers were finishing their last-minute shopping. The joke shop was no doubt very popular to have been cramped at this hour.

In the fresh, slightly cold air of the approaching autumn, it was easier to take a deep breath. When things were clearer, I let my eyes create one or two tears; tears that I never ended up shedding. Two swift wipes with my sleeve and I was back to normal.

"Don't tell me you fell for that poor excuse for a shop. Biggest steal in Diagon and Knockturn Alley, I say."

The gruff voice came from a few feet away. Leaning against the red-brick wall of the nearby _Witch's Clothing_ shop, there stood a man in the shadows of the afternoon. I could see the orange end of a cigarette and the smoke smelled familiar.

Through the shadows emerged Draco Malfoy. I noticed that, compared to the last time I saw him, he looked a bit more put together, a bit more polished. His black shirt was not undone, his tie was tight right below the prominent Adam's apple, there was not a single piece of hair sticking out. The dark circles were still showing under his eyes but were pointedly camouflaged behind the image of a smartly dressed man.

"Well, if it isn't Mr Insult himself."

"If it's the truth, then it's not an insult," he said harshly.

"Debatable," I shrugged.

His cigarette was shedding its last smoke. He threw it on the pavement and stepped on it but before he had any time to exhale all the smoke out of his lungs, he was putting the next one between his teeth.

"Do you _ever_ stop smoking? Do you know you're going to die before you're 30?"

"In case you didn't notice there is a war going on. I probably wouldn't reach 30 anyway," he spat out.

"So you just _had_ to make sure?" I scoffed but it was one of those things that you instantly regret and are suddenly thankful that you muttered. Only by looking at him, I could tell; I had struck some sensitive chord in him and wondered what that chord might be. There is something about this boy's silence that I can't quite describe. You can feel the annoyance and sadness in his air, you can sense it in his blue and grey gaze, you can hear it with every sombre exhale.

And the conversation could have stopped there - it was supposed to. What more was there to say, other than that we despised each other, now openly and officially? What else could be said, to finish off the shattering of the few moments that might have seemed normal back at that museum, before my blood status blew up on Malfoy's face?

"Don't tell me you bought anything from these blood-traitors. Not that I would expect anything less from a half-blood muggle-hugger."

He pushed the line as much as he could, and I swear, I think he only did it so he could drag this encounter a few minutes more.

"You know, you have to stop using these words someday," I answered quickly.

With three wide strides, he approached. With his steady but quick pace, he wanted to intimidate me. In any other case, I would have taken a step back but if I was to show some defence, I shouldn't so much as flinch. Although he was still standing 2 feet away from me, he had somehow invaded my space from afar.

"Why would I do that?" His grey eyes were narrowed and he was pushing the upper right corner of his lip with his tongue so as to release his resentment in some visible way.

"Sorry to burst your bubble but everyone has a bit of muggle in them nowadays, unless they are some inbreeding bloodists. So, if you don't want to end up all alone, I suggest you stop insulting everyone around you," I folded my hands.

"Well then, maybe I _want_ to be alone," he said.

He exhaled the smoke directly on my face. Again, blended and merged with the sour smoke, there lay the smell of forgotten liquor. Again, if Draco Malfoy was drunk, it didn't show.

"I don't believe that," I answered honestly.

"How so?" he dropped his head sideways and narrowed his eyes. Another step towards me. Now he was awfully close.

"Why else would you start a conversation?"

Then came the captivating silence, charged with some heavy energy and tension.

Malfoy didn't speak for now. He observed my face and breathed out heavily, uncomfortably. He focused his look on my eyes and for one cursed moment that only lasted for a quick second, his eyes dropped down on my lips. I swallowed on a dry throat.

Draco Malfoy did not like losing. He didn't like feeling like the other person has the upper hand. This much was clear to me by now. When he felt like I was winning this round, he jumped to another extreme, another insult, another attempt to intimidate;

"Why were you crying before?" he said confidently, locking his eyes to mine.

The bastard knew where your weaknesses laid.

"I-"

But just then a silvery voice echoed in the lonely street.

"Draco!"

Behind Malfoy's back, at the far end of the alley, advanced a tall, slim woman. I could recognize her from the papers, from my brief reading about the Malfoy trials. She was much more beautiful than a newspaper could depict. She had porcelain, snowy skin and glossy, smooth hair. Although I couldn't see many of her features in her son, if anything had been passed on to him, it was that unusual, piercing shade of cloudy sky in his eyes. She was the kind of woman that makes you insecure about your appearance only by existing in the same space as you and while there were one or two wrinkles around her eyes, she still held the powerful confidence of a pretty face.

"Shit. It's my mother."

Malfoy cursed but didn't turn around and kept his back at her. Instead, he looked down at his cigarette concerned.

"Save me," he said.

"Don't you dare..." I warned.

And with one quick movement, that his mother never detected as she was getting closer, he passed his half-finished cigarette to my fingers.

In a moment of weakness, shivers shot through my body during the split second that a few millimetres of our skin met each other.

"You complete arse-"

"Shut up, Blackwood..." he said through his teeth.

"Blackthorn!" I said but smiled when I saw his mother tapping Draco's shoulder.

She looked at me from head to toe. It was a look that didn't take more than two seconds but I am sure I had never been looked at with a snootier eye than this woman's. Her gaze stumbled upon the cigarette that I was awkwardly holding in my hand and her eyebrows were raised to heaven.

"Draco, I hope I didn't keep you waiting for very long," she said, after taking a second to ignore my presence.

"No, it's fine, Mother," said Malfoy and laid a hand on her shoulder so as to drag her away from this pathetic scene. "Let's go."

"Is this a friend of yours?" she said. Mrs Malfoy had gone from critical to well-mannered in a heartbeat.

"No. Let's go," Malfoy insisted and made to leave stubbornly.

"Narcissa Malfoy," she said and spread a hand to greet me.

When I mechanically raised a hand as well, I noticed that she had given me her right hand - and my right one was still holding that damned cigarette. I had to switch hands and then shake Mrs Malfoy's hand while I hid the burning butt behind my back.

"Ophelia Bl-"

"She's a fellow Slytherin," Draco interrupted rudely and his addition felt so out of place that I squinted.

"It's very nice to meet Draco's friend," she said.

"More like distant acquaintances and now we have to go, Mother. We will be late." Malfoy didn't even take a breath between the words.

"Oh, very well then... Have a good day-"

Mrs Malfoy's brief farewells were interrupted by her son's constant attempts to draw her away, so I ended up not even having time to show some courtesy. I watched as the two of them walked down the alley and took a turn.

Just before Malfoy disappeared, he turned around and pressed his palms together.

"Thank you," he mouthed inaudibly with a face of complete exhaustion.

_...Margot, if my heart has ever skipped a beat, it was at that moment._

_See you soon,  
_ _Ophelia_

* * *


	12. Birthday Present

D

Screams can often be heard in the Manor. Sometimes an elf is not careful enough and breaks a teacup or a cook burns the dinner. Especially when Father was around, the halls were silent but never quiet. But there were never more terrible screams than those that Bella let out. They were piercing to hear and you couldn't get the sound out of your head even after she had stopped for hours. Sometimes I wondered how the hell the Dark Lord liked those moans.

As always, I walked into my great-grandmother room, helped her stand from her bed and sit on the wheelchair.

With the little movement that was left in her, she looked up to me as I was pushing the wheelchair near the piano.

"How are you today, Draco?"

My wrist was in pain.

"I'm very good. And how are you, granny?"

"Same as yesterday... And the day before," she said with a voice tremulous from old age. "What do we have today?"

"We have Chopin," I said and sat on the stool.

But just then, another quiver came from beneath us. What fate put our rooms only right above the staircase that lead to Bellatrix's chamber?

"I never liked that whore..." Granny shook her head and put a papery hand on her cheek in embarrassment. "I knew it from the moment I met her that she would bring disgrace to this family. The Blacks was always a pure family but an insane one as well. All the inbreeding and the torturing... And Bellatrix was the worst of them. Listen to her now. Being a dark wizard's slut every five days or so. Oh, how the mighty have fallen..."

My great-grandmother was missing some teeth and one usually couldn't understand her perfectly. Now I realized that either she had moments of clarity, or that she could be comprehended only when she wanted to.

"But what can one say? The way Lucius went ahead and blew himself up, these deeds are the only thing keeping this family alive. Merlin knows, if not for what Bellatrix has between her legs, we would already be dead."

Granny seemed to have the faintest bit of shame for her words. I, who had often witnessed her being bitter but never so shameless, stared somewhere between amazed and excited.

"Bach it is, then," I ended up saying.

"I told him from the very first day," she continued. "I told my son; 'Don't you dare destroy Lucius'. But he did, like his father, my husband, did before him. Oh, if there was ever a curse on me, it was to suffer a life knowing I allowed this. If my son had some decency in him, Lucius would have never gone that way as well."

"We will get through, granny," I said reassuringly and laid my fingers on the keys, ready to put this conversation and the shouts below us to rest.

"Oh, we will. The Malfoys always do," she agreed with a certain nod. "But promise me this;" And with whatever will she had in her, she made a slow try to lean towards me. I leaned in, to relieve her of the struggle. "Don't destroy your son too, alright, Draco?" she said in a whisper.

"I don't think I will ever have children," I admitted.

"How so, Draco?" she asked.

"I think I would make a terrible father."

She seemed satisfied with this answer.

"You are the wisest of the bunch, Draco. It's me you take after; there is no other possible explanation for that."

She rested her back again and waited for the song, now peaceful.

I was tempted to raise my sleeves, a custom I always had before playing the piano. Then I remembered that Granny knew exactly what I was. I rolled my left sleeve up. The other one would stay in place. How ironical. I couldn't raise both my sleeves even in front of those who knew I had the Dark Mark. One way or another, I always had something to hide.

Just then, a knock on the door.

Elves never knocked on doors and neither of the black sisters ever came in here. If it was my mother, it must have been something urgent. I jumped up and opened the door.

It was indeed my mother, and it was indeed the most urgent matter of the summer.

She held up a letter.

"We made it!" she said.

Even Azkaban can be penetrated by money. Yes, we had to sell off more estates than we had originally planned, but we managed to get two letters from Father – one for me and one for my mother.

I looked back in the dimly lit room. My grandmother was disappointed that she wouldn't get to listen to the piano tonight but nodded her head in comprehension.

I retrieved to my bedroom and locked the door before I could start reading.

_Draco,_

_Take care of your mother._

_Do as you're told. Don't disappoint me, son._

_I will see you soon._

_Your father_

And the handwriting was messy' the parchment had some stains on it. The letter was all it had needed to be. I folded it back to its shape and placed it between the cover and the first page of my new notebook – the Van Gogh one. I threw the notebook on top of the other one in my half-finished trunk.

The letter he sent my mother must have been emotional because, for the first time, I heard her weeping in her room. She didn't eat for three days; she didn't come out at all. I had hated every time I wanted to be left alone but my mother would insist on knocking the door, but now I realized her agony. I wanted to make sure she was okay, make sure she was even alive.

I found her curled in a corner, hair fainting, bloodshot eyes, pale skin.

On the bed, crumbled and tearstained, lay the note, but I wasn't noisy enough to take a glimpse of it.

"Mother..."

In a way, I had to replace my Father in this house. If he was the one protecting her – in his own way – all these years, I had to be the one protecting her now – Merlin forbid, not in the same, terrible ways, but still protecting her.

I held her as tightly as I could. She was struggling for a breath and I could feel tears soaking the fabric on my shoulder.

"Kill him, Draco... You're the only hope we have..." she said hopelessly.

In the beginning, I thought that having Lucius' complete an impossible task would be enough for Voldemort, that he would change his mind during the summer and simply bring Father back and let him sizzle in the thought that he would soon lose his son. Any dignity we once held was now lost. We were nothing but a toy for Voldemort. He didn't even seem interested in my plans.

We were alone in this. Just me and my mother.

I was filled with anger and resentment and I didn't know to whom these feelings were targeted. I only hoped I could vent it all to a killing curse.

* * *

_It was a dream but it wasn't; it was a memory._

_It was the 5th of June, 1994. The Hufflepuffs were having a party and Cedric Diggory was so triumphant that he had won the Quidditch Cup for his house, that he had invited the whole school to celebrate. Even some Slytherins were planning on showing up._

_But as the night was slowly falling and the Slytherin team was ready to head back to the castle, Marcus Flint erupted in what seemed like a much-needed rant._

_"You can't keep doing this, Malfoy! Second year in a row! You have to show at least_ some _talent to get in the team next year. You started off great last year! You won us Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and you were great with the broom. What the hell has happened to you? You can't even spot the snitch anymore!"_

_Flint was furious that I had robbed him of victory yet another time. Next year would be his last at Hogwarts and he was determined to win the Quidditch Cup at least once in the three years that he was the head of the Slytherin team._

_"Don't you fucking dare! You know I had an injury!" I yelled._

_"Come on, Malfoy, save the show for someone else. We all know the injury was fake," said Flint and shook his head with exhaustion._

_"You know very well that I saved our asses again. If it weren't for my hand, we would have to deal with Gryffindors today and it would have been way worse," I said._

_"And where did that get us exactly? Did we win the cup? No. We lost."_

_"By five points!"_

_"We lost!" he repeated._

_"Listen here, Flint! This team would be nothing without me! Nothing!" I scoffed and pushed him back violently. "And you can be sure, my father will hear about this!"_

_But Flint was not having any of this at the moment. He was too tired to show his fury. He unexpectedly pinned me to the wooden wall of the changing rooms with the cold-calm face of a bully. I was usually the one who was giving off that face and being at the other end of the rope was terrifying. The rest of the Slytherin team was taken aback by Flint's sudden outburst but did nothing._

_"Thank your father for the broomsticks and the new uniforms and the dragonskin flying gloves," he said in a breathy voice. "But there is no way you're playing for us next year," he said, let me go and simply walked away._

_The Slytherin team walked towards the castle, tired and defeated. I lingered behind, dragging my feet against the dirt because I knew very well what was coming._

_Father had come to see my last game for the season and, as always, I would find him waiting for me outside the Great Hall. As I crossed the yard and approached the Entrance Hall, my heart started racing frantically. Father watched me from afar so utterly disappointed, that the ground was lost under my feet._

_Next to him, stood professor Snape, an almost as intimidating figure. Father might have been the most demanding person in my life, but when I was in Hogwarts he could make his demands only through his letters. Snape, on the other hand, was the constant nightmare I could never escape._

_And so with trembling hands, I walked towards the two most fearsome men in my life. I suddenly felt nauseated. I closed my eyes and battled through the feeling. I folded my hands behind my back to hide the shaking and held my head up high._

_"That was pathetic," said Father without even blinking._

_He looked around him. He made sure the Entrance Hall was empty._

_And then_ slam! _His hand was on my cheek in such a forceful slap, that my eardrum needed a few days to go back to normal. When I looked up to him again, he was unyielding. Snape was looking down at me in the most satisfied way._

_"I finance the team. I get you in. I even make the effort to show up to your matches. And you still lose," he said. "Always a disappointment."_

_Snape raised an eyebrow approvingly._

_I didn't eat dinner. I sneaked out and headed towards the Forbidden Forest. It was the right chance to visit my usual spot; where the meadow near Hagrid's hut meets the Black Lake. I sat under the old elm tree and I pressed my knees in my eyes so that my trousers could soak up most of the tears._

_"Happy birthday to me,_

_Happy birthday to me,_

_Happy birthday, Draco Malfoy,_

_Happy birthday to me..."_

_I sang and blew on a green leaf instead of candles. The leaf danced in the wind for a few seconds and then lay quietly on the dark waters of the Black Lake._

I woke up drenched in sweat. It was the right night to bleed. 

* * *


	13. Dream

O

_August 30th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_I think Mum and Dad are getting a little bit too emotional nowadays because, just as I picked up the strength to accept Ron's invitation for a sleepover at the Burrow, like every summer, they turned a bit cold and argued that they wanted me there for my last day before returning to Hogwarts. I understand, of course. Things are getting more unsure out there, which only makes them think of the worst._

_In any case, my parents were soon happy that I would be "socializing" and offered to take me to the Burrow themselves._

_The Weasleys were very happy to hear that I would be staying with them for the last two nights before Hogwarts and they insisted to have us all over for dinner - well, they didn't have to insist much because we all love Mrs Weasley's cooking._

_I spent the whole morning cleaning and tidying up the room and gathering the last things I would need for my year in Hogwarts. There are only a few things that I will take back with me, apart from the usual. That nice necklace of yours, the one from that summer festival, is one of them. I'll try to wear it as often as I can, but I'm so terrified of losing it._

_"Swan Queen, you don't_ need _to go if you don't really want to..." said Mum as Dad loaded the trunk in the car._

_I took a look at her troubled eyes and now I knew. Yes, my parents wanted me to linger in the house for a few more days, as any parent would but today's argument wasn't just about that. I now understood that part of them knew that I was not ready to go back to my usual life and saw these two days as another pressure, another commitment to the obligation to go back to normality. It was the same as on I would go to Diagon Alley; they could smell that I was only meeting my friends because to do otherwise would only add to my problems._

_At first, I had to hear everyone exclaim and ask where I had been all this time - the usual. But once we sat on the dinner table and started laughing at Mr Weasley's jokes as he was drinking with Dad, things seemed much plainer._

_It was one of those rare afternoons that I felt like I owed it to life itself to be grateful for. When you are surrounded by the people you most love in the world, things ought to seem ideal._

_Harry, Ron and George lit up a fire in the back yard and Hermione and Ginny brought the marshmallows as I cut some sticks from a nearby tree. Fred brought an old guitar and started tuning it._

_"Are you going to play us something tonight, Ophelia?" he said. "Muggle songs are always better."_

_"Yes! Yes! Play that... that really cool one... Sweet love of mine."_

_"Sweet child o' mine, George."_

_"Yes, that one!" said Fred._

_"I don't remember any songs anymore," I answered and spread the sticks to everyone._

_"Come on! Play because, if you don't,_ I _am going to have a go - and have you ever heard a Banshee dying while stepping on a cat's tail?" said Ron and sat heavily on the ground._

_"Not today..." I said and focused on the flames in front of me. With my peripheral vision, I saw Harry eyeing Ron. I suspect that the two of them have already discussed my very recent, incomprehensible behaviour._

_Margot, if I don't put my act together, I will have to answer some questions very soon and I don't know if I could bear it._

_After that, the night flew smoothly and it almost felt like time had rewound. It reminded me of the lazy nights in the Room of Requirement, waiting for Filch to leave the corridors so that we could return to our common rooms. Yes, it was stressful but at least we were all together._

_Soon, Fred and George brought their pyrotechnics. They passed their fireballs back and forth between their hands and when they threw them into the bonfire, they would rise up to the sky and erupt in a million stars that drizzled around us like dancing fireflies. And, oh, the shouts and the yells when the twins made too much noise after hours... Everything felt right in the world for one second._

_But when I felt like I was having too much fun, I dived into an abyss of thoughtfulness. I know I shouldn't feel guilty for having fun, but why do I?_

_See you soon,  
_ _Ophelia_

"Hey! What do you keep writing in that notebook of yours, Ophelia?" asked Ron, handing me a marshmallow stick as I was scribbling my last words.

By that time, the twins and Ginny had gone to sleep (the twins had to wake up early in the morning to open up the joke shop and Ginny wasn't much of a night owl).

"Nothing," I said simply, closed my notebook, pushed it to my side, then laid back on the grass while slowly eating the marshmallow.

"It's very strange going back there isn't it? Every year it seems a bit darker," said Hermione in a sombre tone.

"I just wish we will have a peaceful year for once," said Ron.

"Say that again, maybe you will actually believe there is a chance," said Harry, seriously at first but then burst in a brief scoff.

"Remember when we sneaked into the third floor because we were stupid first-years and found that three-headed dog? Fluffy? It was the first time we almost got killed," said Ron with a reminiscent look on his face.

"-or worse, _expelled_!" said Harry in a thin voice and a strong curling of his brows, impersonating Hermione.

Hermione gave the boys a bored look - the boys were bringing that line up very often, so she must have gotten used to it. Personally, I wished I was there to witness that famous line in the making and only laughed awkwardly.

"Or remember when Lockheart accidentally obliviated himself with Ron's wand?" said Harry.

" _Do you live here?_ " impersonated Ron and flicked his hair in a very Gilderoy Lockheart manner.

"Do you mind bringing up stories that _I_ remember as well?" I suggested at last.

"Oh, right, we weren't friends back then..." said Harry thoughtfully.

"Okay, okay," said Hermione, who was always there to get you out of a tough situation. "Remember when Ophelia bet 2 Galleons on Harry to get that egg from the dragon and ended up winning a fortune because the odds were very low on him?" said Hermione with the closest thing she had to a conspiring look.

"Really? You had faith in me? Thank you, Ophelia! That is so sweet!" said Harry.

"It was a good investment but sure, Harry. Whatever gives you sweet dreams," I said and shrugged my shoulders.

"Great, now our whole friendship is a lie," Harry gave me the only angry eyes he could muster.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I always had faith in you," I said quickly and made a long pause. "No, but seriously, you were a _very_ good investment. That bet paid for my Yule Ball dress."

"Oh, I loved that thing," smiled Hermione.

"It was a nice dress, not going to lie."

"You're welcome!" Harry exclaimed in anger.

The first thing that popped into my head when I mentioned the Yule Ball, was that distant memory that I had until very recently forgotten; that one dance with Draco Malfoy while that beautiful slow song was playing. If my heart hadn't been bothered during that dance - because after all, I was doing him a favour - it was definitely stirred now.

The memory that once held a dull, grey colour had been transformed. I was suddenly trying to trace back any detail, any slight unexplored or forgotten sentiment that was abandoned on the night we met.

I wanted to go back and relive it all but my inner voice was afraid to say it loud and clear in the echos of my brain.

"Ahhh..." Hermione smiled bitterly with the nostalgia. "I don't see how this year could be any worse than the last. Nothing will ever be able to surpass that toad woman," she said.

"Well, I don't know about that. We haven't even started and Death Eaters have already started creeping in," said Harry, suddenly taking a serious look. He rubbed his hands back and forth against his legs, the way he always did when nervous.

"What are you talking about? Snape? He is with the Order, you know that," I said.

"He is not talking about Snape," said Ron.

"Then who?" I said and shrugged - although I had a good guess towards whom this conversation was leaning.

"Harry thinks Draco Malfoy has become a Death Eater," said Hermione hiding a snigger. She raised her eyebrows in disbelief and seemed to think this was an impossible suggestion.

"Don't joke about this..." said Harry.

"Harry, why do you say that?"

"The other day, when we were at the joke shop, we saw him. He was going towards Knockturn Alley and he got in Borgin and Burke's. There were a bunch of questionable people there. It seemed like they were going through some kind of ritual or-"

"Basically all we saw was him looking around and touching stuff. I don't know where you got that it was a ritual, Harry," interrupted Hermione.

"But it just makes sense. His whole family have been bloodists for decades. His father is in Azkaban for being a Death Eater and he has Bellatrix Lestrange for a bloody aunt. Why would it _not_ make sense for him to become a Death Eater?"

"Because he is a 16-year old just like us and Voldemort would find no use in him."

"Well, we are sort of past the point where Voldemort only targets followers that are useful to him. He is building a bloody army."

"You know, Hermione, I don't think it was a ritual either. I think we just saw him being his creepy self at a creepy shop. But Harry does have a valid point. If anyone asked me who is more likely to become a Death Eater in Hogwarts, I would point at Malfoy in a blink of an eye," said Ron.

"I get it. It just seems way farfetched at the moment."

There was a long pause there and I was sure that the issue had been a cause of debate for the three friends many times before. Hermione seemed tired; not because of the late of the night. She was wide awake and her eyes were fixed on Harry. Hermione always found it tiresome when Harry became stubborn.

"Do you know anything, Ophelia?" asked Harry.

"Just because I'm a Slytherin, doesn't mean I know more than you," I said.

I could have told them about our unexpected meeting at the museum, however, I felt that tensions between Harry and me were already high ever since I vanished. I couldn't worsen the matters over something as unimportant as looking at paintings with Draco Malfoy.

"In any case, just be careful with him. He is in the same bloody common room as you," said Ron.

"I doubt I have anything to be afraid of. Being an outsider has its perks sometimes. I doubt Malfoy even remembers my name." Well, that last part was very technically true. "If it makes any difference, I don't think he would become a Death Eater, either."

He hadn't seemed like his usual self, neither that day at the museum nor when I met him at Diagon Alley. What I perceived as sorrow melancholy and exhaustion, could have been unnoticed by everyone else. Draco Malfoy's silence could mean a million things. I hoped I was wrong, for it would make things so much easier. I hoped he still was his uncomplicated, mean self.

"I guess we will have to wait and see..." said Harry and stood up and walked into the house. You know that Harry is planning on something if he walks away from a conversation. He returned a few minutes later with four sleeping bags.

And with that, we settled down and fell in a deep sleep, the stars blinking above us as the bonfire was dying out. As soon as my eyes were closed, I was dreaming.

* * *

In my dream, I was walking down a lonely corridor. Although there was a ceiling above me, it was raining. When I looked up, the raindrops seemed to have been coming from nowhere. At the end of the corridor, there was a small door - a cupboard. The creaky door opened and Malfoy called from the inside.

"Come here," he said in a smoky voice. "Come here, Ophelia."

I knew it was a dream but still chose to obey.

I got into the cupboard and Malfoy shut the door. I was suddenly dry and so warm that there might as well have been a fireplace nearby. Malfoy looked at me for long seconds - his eyes same as in reality, clouds' and oceans' eyes. I felt as if I knew what was coming and I was anticipating it but wanted him to go slowly all the same. Just like I wished, he took small but decisive steps towards me. I took some steps back, only because I wanted to be trapped by him and was soon met with the cold, stone wall behind me. And at that moment, Malfoy's hands were on my neck, covering the surface from the bone of the jawline to the soft hollow under my ears.

"Shhh..." he said and put a thumb on my lips, dragging it softly until the hand took its place back on my neck. His breath, much like in reality, smelled of rich tobacco and whiskey as it brushed against my cheek. "Don't make a sound," he whispered.

I wished for a kiss but I simultaneously wanted the lead up to it to last the ages it did. When he finally did it, I felt two lips softly touching mine, burning flesh killing me softly. Malfoy was taking it slowly and if it weren't for my own initiative, I wouldn't have felt his tongue on mine. He must have been startled to see me so willing, be broke the kiss to look at me, now with lust. When he saw that I was surrendering myself fully, he restarted the kiss with more force, more passion. When he had enough of my neck, his fingers started wandering lower and lower and-

I woke up.

* * *

I was soaking in sweat, my neck and legs were burning and I was almost trembling. I have never been kissed in my life, yet this must be how it feels like.

I was facing the sky again - it was near sunrise and the sky was a deep shade of purple. The fire had died out during the night and everyone was still sound asleep.

I was damning fate for waking me up but then again, it was better this way. Who knows what he would have done next? Well, I hoped I didn't see Malfoy any time soon because there is no doubt, I would remember this dream for a long time or even imagine how it would end.

I tried to fall back to sleep after catching my breath but I could almost still feel and smell his breath on mine.

_August 31st, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_I think I'm getting very emotional nowadays - so much that ordinary things, such as museum visits and brief conversations at Diagon Alley, seem more important than they really are. It is strange because I never thought that such insignificant things could affect my dreams._

_Oh, these dreams mean nothing, right? You can get them with anyone from time to time. Right?_

_See you soon,  
_ _Ophelia_

* * *


	14. No Soul

D

And just as I thought my worries would have lifted me the curse of thinking about insignificant things, such as romances and girls and love stories and Van Gogh portraits, Ophelia popped into my head at the most inappropriate time. The image of her eyes came into my mind at the most vulnerable moment. It was a fragment of my imagination, for her eyes might have been intriguing from time to time but they were never promiscuous. But at that moment of release, it was just me and that girl I was bound to hate.

"Well, fuck," I whispered when I realized what had just happened.

I scoffed and closed my eyes, embarrassed and angry. Angry at Ophelia for even daring to enter my mind, and angry at myself for ever letting her.

I blew out the candle that was burning on my nightstand, adjusted my pillow, turned to my side and tried to forget.

* * *

_Back to normal now, Draco. You need no soul._

I repeated this mantra as we entered King's Cross Station.

It was a new beginning. From that day, my mind would be fixed in one thing and one thing only; my mission.

_Back to normal now, Draco. You need no soul._

The crowd around us was getting thick, so we retrieved to some lonely spot, avoiding the parents that were hopelessly waving their first-year children goodbye. I was always overwhelmed when in Platform 9 ¾. My parents always dropped me off but there were never the tears and the desperation that I saw in some of those families. This had to do a lot with my upbringing; I was always a boarding school student, even before Hogwarts. I had grown accustomed to dry separations at the age of eight.

I kissed my mother. I usually never did that, at least not when I was in public or if I had a choice. I noticed that I was getting sentimental again, so a light peck was more than enough.

"Remember. Severus will help you," she said with a vulnerable vocal cord breaking ever so slightly.

I don't know how much strength there must have been inside her so that she could look at me straight in the eye and not even flinch. This could be the last time we met – neither of us wanted to believe it, but it was true.

"I don't need help. Trust me, Mother," I said.

"I trust you."

And with that, I was gone. If I stayed there any longer, I would get emotional and I had promised myself I wouldn't allow these sort of slopes this year. I was clear with myself; Draco, as soon as you lay foot on that train, you leave every emotion behind. You let yourself feel weak for a summer. _Now you need no soul._

And as I passed the corridor, my mantra still in my head, I forced myself not to look to my right. I didn't want to see who was in the compartments. I didn't want to know who was sitting with whom. I only wanted to make my way to the fifth carriage, where I was sure to meet Blaise. Deep inside, I knew exactly what I was avoiding. I was avoiding any glance, any glimpse of those hazel and green eyes.

But with the corner of my eye, I noticed those four people, that group of friends I most despised. And how could I have missed them? The two of them had that loathsome orange colour for their hair. But when I raised my eyes, passing by, I only saw Potter, Granger and two of the Weasley siblings sitting in the compartment.

I had told myself I didn't care in the least, even if Ophelia _was_ sitting with them. Her taste in friends was disgusting as much as it was obvious. But suddenly, I was filled with other questions. Why was she not on the train? Was she not here yet? Would she miss the Hogwarts Express?

_Oh, come on, Draco. You said you would not get sentimental, from the moment you set foot on this train._

I am not sentimental, I told myself. Just wondering.

I entered the carriage, where I expected to see Blaise. He had settled in early and it seems that he had already bought all the food he needed for the ride. Despite being as thin and fit as a man could get, Blaise's one and only vice was candy and sweets.

"Hello there, mate!" he exclaimed and stood at once when he saw me. He quickly patted the wide of my arm.

"Finally! It's been ages!" I said.

"You know how my father's job is," he said, sat back down again and opened a chocolate frog. "We only came back on Friday," he explained.

"I know, I know," I said and settled opposite of him. "How was France?"

"Well, it's getting boring at this point – going there every summer and all. I would rather spend a summer here for once. It was fun as always but at some point, you run out of things to do and I don't even know anyone there..."

As Blaise babbled about his vacations, my eyes wandered around the carriage and it didn't take much time to spot Ophelia. She was sitting at the end of the carriage, on the seat that was open to the corridor, so her face was easily visible, if you tilted your head to the left – which I didn't, of course. She was wearing a cotton shirt under a knit sweater of deep emerald colour. Over the white collar, I could see a necklace. It was a silver chain and the pendant was nothing more than a simple circle. It could be the letter O.

A sand-haired girl was sitting next to her, and opposite her, although fairly hidden, I could see a head with brown hair – a boy's haircut. Who the fuck was sitting with her?

I noticed she had those ugly, black wires in one of her ears and the device, which (I could only suppose) held the music, was laid on the table over her notebook. That small device worked much like a reminded that Ophelia was the embodiment of muggle-love.

But from afar, she looked like a medieval statue, a mysterious character that was left behind from a romantic poem or play.

I reminded myself to be comported and tried to focus on the few interesting things Blaise had to say.

"...but at least I met Jaqueline halfway. Do you remember Jaqueline? That Veela from Beauxbattons. I mean, it didn't last long but it kept things pretty interesting."

"You've been busy."

"Yeah... And... while we are at it," he said with a suddenly serious look. "Guess who was also vacating for a couple of days in Montmartre... Maya."

"Oh, and I was wondering where the drama kicks in. Maya? Maya Flint? As in Marcus Flint's sister?" I said with an unbothered face.

This was our sixth year and I knew perfectly well that, if I had my fair share of girlfriends in our five years, Blaise had them tripled, and there never was a student who had a more complex love life than him. Thankfully, it had all been kept fairly private, which only made it more interesting for Blaise's dramatic soul.

"Might be. Keep your voice down..." he said, eyeing around him for any obviously prying ears.

"Tell me you didn't fuck her," I said in a whisper, leaning across the table.

"How dare you? I thought you knew me better than, Malfoy. I am honestly offended," he said, trying to contain his laughter.

"So you _did_ fuck her."

"Well, if you only see the very technical side of things-"

"I want to be a fly in the room when Marcus finds out."

"It was just a one-time thing. For both of us, actually," he argued. "Besides, Marcus has already graduated, so, if I don't leave Hogwarts for Christmas, he can't _practically_ get to me, right?" he said lightheartedly but, when met with my concerned face, his expression changed to one of terror and panic. "Right?" he insisted. "Draco. Right?"

"Yeah, I would hire Crabbe and Goyle to be my bodyguards, if I were you," I said. "Anyway, isn't Maya friends with Polyxeny?"

Blaise never failed to spread heartbreak and turmoil around Hogwarts with his love life. This time, he chose to befriend Maya, which ought to cause her some problems with our mutual ex-girlfriend, Polyxeny. Yes, it was all getting rather messy. Although this messy situation never caused a problem in my long-lasting friendship with Blaise, I sensed that this wouldn't be the case for Polyxeny's rather shallow part-time friendships.

"They are not the _best_ friends around."

"Well, obviously not," I said. "I smell drama."

For the second time, my eyes fell on Ophelia's across the carriage and my heart skipped a beat when I saw she was glancing back. Even though she was sitting in such distance, I could see the green and gold in her eyes. I was instantly thrown back on the night at the Diagon Alley. I remembered the way I had taken a step towards her, how she fearlessly looked at me, how I breathed the same air at her, how I'd touched her hand when I gave her that cigarette. I remember how I had thought about her the previous night and the embarrassment came back to me.

Our eye contact didn't last for long. Ophelia soon looked down at her hands almost at once. After a few seconds passed, and she thought that she was not being watched, she drew a faint smile on her face. She liked it. I tried to focus on Blaise's dating problems and I didn't expect to find her looking at me, the next time I would turn my eyes to hers.

With any other girl, this would be my cue to flirt. With any other girl, we would be snogging in the toilets before night fell. It used to be that easy. But she was Ophelia. Half-blood, muggle-loving Ophelia.

_Comport yourself, Draco. You need no soul._

I read her lips. "Can I sit next to you?" she said to the boy in front of her. Not that it mattered, but now she thought I was a stalker. What a great turn of events?

She stood up and sat on the seat opposite her, her back turned to me.

"What the hell do you keep looking at?" Blaise followed my gaze to the back of the carriage only to see nothing but an empty seat.

"Nothing," I confirmed and since he was now seeing nothing but thin air, he believed me.

"You seem a bit off today..." noticed Blaise.

"Think so?"

"Mate... I know it must have been hell because of your father-"

"Don't bring up _that_ ," I said through my teeth.

"I only meant to say, I wish I was home when it happened. I feel like a shitty friend. Have you heard anything from him? You know, my cousin's wife had an uncle that can help-" he whispered. His usually light look had now turned serious.

"Just drop it, Blaise," I hissed.

I must have said this in some tone I usually didn't use with Blaise, but since snapping was not the most unusual thing when coming from me, he continued.

"I'm serious. He can get you letters from him. Maybe I can help!" he said. But this time there was an idea of pity behind his words, so my face grew rigid.

"I'm going to say it once, Blaise. Drop it," I warned.

"Mate, what's up? Why are you saying this?" he asked when he came back from his loss of words.

"Don't ever touch this issue again. Ever."

"Alright..." he said and raised his hands. At least Blaise would stop when he was told to, opposite to what seemed like everyone else nowadays.

With this, I fell into a deep state of thoughtfulness. The ride continued and I held onto my silence, as if it was the last floating remain of a shipwreck. Blaise watched me distance myself from everything around me but he now knew better than to start a conversation. It didn't take long for him to try his luck for an enjoyable ride somewhere else. He spotted Goyle a few seats away from us and left me alone, exactly like I wanted him to.

As the night lightly fell around us, I stood. Right behind the toilets in the third carriage of the train, there was a small space, hidden from the corridor. This small niche had a small window on its side. I knew that the trolley lady had just passed through that spot and that most of the students would be on their seats as we were closing to Hogwarts.

In the years that had passed, I had frequently used that nook to snog the occasional girlfriend that had stumbled upon my life for that month. Now, I used it to smoke.

I cracked the window and exhaled only there.

I heard the toilet door opening behind me and I hid the cigarette at once.

"Still choosing to die before 30?" said Ophelia mindlessly. She didn't seem very eager to converse; she was already sliding the door open, ready to return to our carriage. For her, this was a frank, mean comment and not an invitation to a tête-à-tête.

"Who gave you the right to talk to me?" I snapped.

"You must be really smug if you think talking to you is a right to be claimed," she said rolled her eyes.

I don't know what came over me for that next part.

I quickly reached from the door handle; Ophelia's hand was currently on that handle, so I inevitably trapped her hand under mine as I slammed the door shut.

I dragged her a tad closer so that no prying eyes could spy through the door window. My hand was now on the collar of her shirt but my thumb was touching the bare, hot skin of her neck, just below her silver necklace.

We were breathing the same air again.

"Don't you ever talk to me again in public," I said.

"You call this public?" she said, her voice reeking irony.

With that short sentence, I felt her breath on my chin, smelled the coffee and her sugared perfume. I could see in Ophelia's look that she didn't know where this was coming from but she kept her calm. In a casual Slytherin manner, when threatened, it is preferable to play with a bluff. So the more daggers I shot in her eyes, the more aggressive hers became. When I gave her a violent shook, she didn't get scared, as I intended. Instead, she gave me a smirk.

What had started as a casual intimidation pursue, had now turned into something different.

"Don't ever talk to me again. Full stop." I brought my face to such a state of disgust that there was no chance the message could be misinterpreted by the narrow distance between us.

We both knew what my problem was; an untold truth. Any proximity that had been somehow created, had to be disregarded. The problem should be solved sooner rather than later. It might have seemed harsh and out of place to her, but it was the way I dealt with things. Your hate towards a person was not something you explained with words but with the eyes. I tried to make it as clear as I could.

"Don't get me wrong, Malfoy, I have no problem with never speaking to you again. I don't give a damn about you. But you were literally the one who talked to me first at the National Gallery."

"I didn't know you were some muggle-loving half-blood."

"Yes, and it was very hard to figure out. And in any case, you were the one to talk to me _again_ outside the Joke Shop. It seems to me that you change your mind more often than a Boggart changes its appearance. I smell a hypocrite."

I had done this a thousand times. The easiest way to intimidate or to scare someone away was to catch him off guard and show your strength, assert your dominance, stand your ground, even in a physical way. But never had a 'bullying' session turned so sour so quickly as this one had.

Now she was the one winning the room. She was the one who was standing her ground. Meanwhile, I was lost – completely lost – in two hazel and green eyes and for a moment (and I can admit that only as I am safely looking back at that day) all I wanted was to kiss her.

"You seem to notice an awful lot for someone who doesn't give a damn." It was a weak answer but it was the only one that came to mind.

"The least you could do is thank me for saving your ass. It seems like your mother wouldn't approve of your smoking habit."

"Thank you." The words felt foreign in my mouth. "And now never talk to me again."

"Not even to insult you? What am I going to do without my new hobby?" Ophelia raised an eyebrow.

I would have thought of some clever line but I was too lost. The clear message I wanted to send was now buried behind a deep eye contact – and we were so close, only inches away.

Ophelia took a sudden step back, flicked her collar in the right position, gave me a sharp look and vanished.

I thought that it would be all over after that but I think I only made things worse. 

* * *


	15. Drenched Pages

O

_September 1st, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_At first, I thought I was going crazy, for there was not a single chance that this boy had any interest in me. It must have all been in my head. At least now, things are easier, a bit more comprehensible. It is obvious he hates me._

_He told me to back off and I will do just that. I promise, Margot._

_I told myself I wouldn't even look in his general direction as I was getting off the train but he was present with his scent. An intoxicating smell of woods and fresh air could be detected as I walked down the corridor, the same smell that he had on him a few hours ago when he was ambushing me..._

"You seem very absentminded today," said Neville as we walked from the platform to the wide road that would lead to the carriages.

"I do?"

"You keep listening to music," he said.

"Want to listen with me?" I said and handed him the left earbud.

"How do you put this thing on?"

I laughed when he tried to put it with the bud facing outwards and helped him. I put on an old song, Killer Queen by Queen, and Neville soon accepted the second earbud, immersed himself into the music and started swaying his head to and fro in the rhythm. He looked like a very shy boy but deep inside he was a wild spirit.

"Ophelia, you are a master of hiding your feelings," whispered Luna, who was wearing a pair of funny looking glasses and was swaying from side to side disorientated. Although I didn't know Luna for very long and hadn't had many full conversations with her, she seemed to be deeply insightful. I was beginning to suspect Neville had a bit of a crush on her and I was inclined to believe that they were perfect for each other, since they were both quiet people.

"Let's not mention that to Neville," I said. Luna smiled widely with a comprehensive look and to my surprise, she didn't insist on learning why I was so absent today.

As we got closer to the carriages, I exclaimed and ran to the front.

"Neville, look!" I said and jumped at the front of the carriage. "They brought some horses to pull the carriages this year! Look! They have wings!"

A majestic beast was stranded to the carriage. Its wings were leathery and its skin was dark brown. Although the eyes were white, indicating a blind pupil, the beast seemed to have sensed my presence. When I cautiously spread my hand to touch it, it flinched for a second but then drew its face near my fingers. It was a cold-blooded animal but looked peaceful and kind.

"How strange that they brought them here after five years. They weren't here when we left in June. The carriages could carry themselves perfectly well. I hope they being treated fairly. I'm tired of begging for signatures on my petitions against unnecessary animal use in Hogwarts," I said.

"You might not want to shout that, Ophelia," said Neville and closed up. Luna didn't follow but rather sat herself on the carriage and opened her Quibbler.

"Why not? Dumbeldore is being a bit more careless than usual these days. Allowing second-years to use animals for educational purposes is one thing; using these beautiful animals, when the carriages can be bewitched to ride themselves, is just plain cruel!"

"They have always been pulling the carriages. People can't usually see those, Ophelia. They were there all these years but they were invisible. They are still invisible to everyone else," he explained and drew me away. He helped me get on the carriage as well and sat beside me but with a very grim expression now.

"I don't understand..."

"They are Thestrals. They only reveal themselves to those who have seen death in their lives." Luna's thin voice was heard behind her magazine.

Neither Neville nor I spoke after that. It seemed that the conversation had put Neville off listening to music. He wrapped the earphones around the cassette played without looking at me, and I was thankful for his avoidance because, had he paid close enough attention, he might have noticed my skin turning paper-white.

"They are very beautiful, aren't they?" said Luna, cheerfully. "I feel like more and more people are able to see them nowadays. What a terrible fate during such dark times..." she continued, now looking at the only spot in the sky that was clear of clouds.

There we were, three people sitting next to each other, knowing that we were all sharing the terrible fate to have seen a loved one perish.

"Oh!" said Luna and jumped up. "I forgot my Nargle charm on my seat! I can't believe it!" she said and hopped off the carriage at once.

"Luna, the carriages are going to start soon-" said Neville the moment we both felt the thud of wheels moving underneath us. "Luna!"

But the sand-haired girl was already hopping away without a shadow of care and waved.

Now that Neville and I were alone, it was time to break the awkwardness.

"Neville, I know we didn't meet on your birthday but would you accept a late birthday present?" I said and pulled a book, covered with sparkly paper.

"Ophelia! You shouldn't have!" His eyes glistened with excitement as he tore off the wrappings and revealed the Encyclopedia: Magicis Herbis. "Merlin!"

"I know you live and breathe with this book. So I thought you shouldn't borrow it from the library anymore," I said and smiled.

"Thank you! It's the best present I've ever received!" he said and looked at me with such grateful eyes that I was suddenly fulfilled.

"Don't mention it. I know we didn't talk much this summer... I'm very sorry we didn't celebrate together this year," I said bitterly.

"It's okay... Grandma and I went to St Mungo's and I think my parents are recognizing me more and more nowadays. They even called me by my name the other day! So it was all very well..." said Neville and covered his awkwardness by turning the first few pages of the book. He only ever mentioned these small details of his life when we were alone and I was glad my recent actions hadn't affected his trust in me. "But I have to ask, Ophelia? Why didn't you send any letters? Did I do something?"

"What? No! Of course not!"

Thankfully he was still not looking at me, so it was easier to lie with a shake of my head.

Neville's eyes looked to the front of the carriage.

"You should put a sad song now," he said and passed me the cassette player again, waiting for me to choose a different tape. And so, deep in silence, we sat together and listened to Dust in the Wind by Kansas.

Just a few feet past the Hogwarts gate, the carriages were all stopped to a halt one by one and we were all searched by Aurors, and so suspicious were they at the sight of my cassette player and set of headphones, that they put a charm on it to detect any traces of Dark Magic it might hide.

_...There and back again; Hogwarts was presenting itself in front of us. Freshly back from my semi-muggle summer, I shivered. Sometimes, when I get too close to all the things mundane in this world, I tend to forget lucky I am to stay in a magical castle for the better part of my school years._

_Margot, you would shiver, too. You were always a lover of the arts and gothic architecture. I wish I could bring you here. I wish you could see this place, even for once. I wish you could see the tall archways, the long halls with the fire-stands, the moving paintings, the dark nooks, the vast gardens, the floating cantles levitating under a night sky._

_If you came here, you would be happy._

_If you came here, you would never leave..._

I escorted Neville to the Gryffindor table and made sure I didn't leave him alone before he fully emerged himself in a conversation with Seamus and Dean. I looked around him nervously. I didn't see Harry anywhere near Ron and Hermione.

"Guys, didn't Harry ride with you?" I said, briefly approaching them, moments before the Sorting Ceremony started.

"He is not with you?" said Hermione.

"I smell trouble," I said. The only other person I hadn't seen since we got back to the school was Draco Malfoy, neither was he in the Hall yet.

"Shouldn't you be sitting with your own house, miss Blackthorn?" I felt a decisive tap on my shoulder and heard the colourless sound of Snape's voice. I turned around only to see him towering over me. "Back to the Slytherin table. Now," he ordered and showed a finger to the far left table.

Although he was never a bully towards me – I was a Slytherin after all – Snape always took care never to let me get too close to the three Gryffindors he most despised. And in a manner, he had succeeded to do just that over the years. His personal vendetta with the star trio of the school had stood in the way of me playing Quidditch with the boys on Sunday mornings, Hermione helping me with my Runes' classes, me and Ron trying out the newest fireworks the twins had invented, and many more. Fortunately, Neville knew better than to get in Snape's way, so at least that friendship had fairly gone undetected by Snape. Two years later, I had more memories with silent Neville than with the three of them – and it showed.

"Yes, Professor," I said and left at once, following Snape with my eyes as he gave Hermione and Ron a grim look.

For the whole of the Sorting Ceremony, I watched the Great Entrance for any sign of Harry but only watched Malfoy arrive late. As he sat down next to Blaise Zabini, he seemed more absentminded than I had ever seen him. He kept twisting his rings around his fingers nervously and had his wand en garde. What was he afraid of?

A few minutes later, Harry arrived. In the far distance, I could see him holding a towel to contain a bleeding nose. I stood up at once. Everyone was eating by now and I doubted anyone would see me making my way to the Gryffindor table. Well, someone did notice; a pair of stone, cold eyes from the Slytherin table followed me.

"What happened here?" I said and showed Harry's face.

"Guess who," he said and tilted his head sideways, motioning to the left side of the hall.

"No... He wouldn't dare," I said.

"After leaving Neville and you, I returned to the train station. Draco Malfoy was fleeing the platform." Luna's ringing voice was heard. She had completely disregarded the rule of dining with our Houses at the Opening Ceremony and was casually serving herself a good helping of pudding. "I found Harry petrified and with a broken nose!"

"Someone is holding a grudge that I put his father in Azkaban," said Harry and leaned his face forward to his towel, which was progressively getting soaked with his blood. I whipped out my wand and cleaned the towel with a flick. "Thanks," said Harry.

"Miss Blackthorn!" Once again, the black figure was coming up to me aggressively. "You insist on hovering around the Gryffindor table."

"I support inter-house communication, sir," I said and made a lousy attempt on a smile.

If I were in any other house, this would have lost me five points before we even gained any but being a Slytherin had its perks when it came to Professor Snape. He simply made a disappointed face and once again, pointed a finger towards the Slytherin table, so I simply dropped my eyes to the ground, slouched my back in a subtly fake, sad manner and followed the order. Behind me, I heard Ron sniggering.

* * *

"Back together, eh, Blackthorn?" said Maya Flint, entering our dorm.

As per every year, I was the only one who was left alone when sorting the dorms, and as per every year, Maya Flint was the only Slytherin girl who didn't care enough about sleeping arrangements and was kind enough to accept an outsider as a roommate.

Maya was always an outgoing bliss and she radiated vibrant Slytherin energy. In our five years, she had made her way from posy to posy, befriending every possible popular group. Her friendships had the average life expectancy of six months. Through the years, she had passed through the snobby Pansy clique, then Millicent's sporty one, then Polyxeny's princess one and so on so forth. Weirdly she was in perfect terms with all the popular groups, despite the fact that most of them fought with each other all the time. No, Maya was almost always in between, making her the semi-popular mediator.

These occasional, opportunistic friendships had made available for a roommate (she preferred never to be roommates with a specific posy, so as to have the opportunity to jump in and out of the popular groups on demand). Yes, she was a Slytherin to the bone.

"Ahhh, you know, there is no place as home, Ophelia," said Maya as she pulled a green, silk nightgown from her trunk. I must admit, I have never seen a fancier wardrobe than this of Maya Flint's.

"If you say so, Maya. How was your summer?"

Although we were roommates for many years and had a fair amount of fondness for each other, Maya and I were never actual friends. With her ambitious eye, she detected that I was pleasurable enough to exchange a word or two before going to sleep, but not even nearly popular enough for her to care about befriending me outside this very room. As for me, I found her rather mean and snobby from time to time and preferred keeping our relations as neutral as possible.

"Oh, it was perfect. I practised Quidditch with my brother all summer and then we took a trip for a few days to Paris!" she said cheerfully hopping in the bathroom to change.

"Paris! That sounds interesting," I said, watching Alaska approaching me for a pet.

"Yeah... tell me about it..." she muttered in a shy voice and emerged from the bathroom, an ethereal, blushing Slytherin princess.

"What was that?" I said nosily. I was sure that she must have had some conquests in France. After all, Maya was a notorious heart-breaker, which only made her more desirable to the Slytherin boys.

"Nothing..." she said mindlessly and let her striking, dirty-blond hair down.

At that point, there was a knock on the door. Maya jumped up, surprised that someone was up at this hour, but then made her way to the door gracefully. I took my black cat in my arms and turned my back to Maya, so as to give her some privacy, but the conversation that I was about to inevitably hear, must have been one of the most romantically dramatic scenes I had witnessed up until that moment.

"-what are you doing here?"

"-I wanted to see you... We haven't talked about Paris, yet," said a low voice.

"-Blaise, I thought that whatever happened in Paris, stayed in Paris," said Maya but I could hear in the mellow tone of her voice that she was charmed Zabini was outside her door.

"-we could reconsider. Are you alone?"

"-no, I am not! Please, leave! Polyxeny is going to kill us both if she finds out!"

"-I don't give a damn what Polyxeny thinks," he said in a tone that easily reminded me of the soap operas my grandma liked to watch.

"-goodnight, Blaise..." said Maya, most melancholically and indolently.

And after this small, cinematic scene was over, Maya returned to her bed, her cheeks flushed with colour. She reached out for a notebook and frantically fanned it near her neck. She looked at me guiltily. I raised my eyebrows and brought Alaska near my face for a presumable kiss, but only intending to hide my wide smile.

"If you dare mention this to anyone, you are dead," said Maya.

"Mention what?" I said.

"Well done," said Maya and smiled shyly.

Although she was a fairly snappy person, Maya could be easy-going. She knew that people barely knew me in this school and that I was uninterested in the teenage dramas that were escalating around me. Therefore, I was the least of her problems at the moment.

For now, I was fairly distracted with the pursue of searching for my copy of Eudoxus Perrish's A True Magical Nature. It is a philosophical page-turner that discussed the magical morals in a highly muggle world. It was one of the books I could easily see get banned if someone like You Know Who ever came to power. Seeing that things were getting wild around us, it seemed appropriate to get some new perspectives by plucking this book from our family bookcase.

"What are you looking for?"

"It's my book..." I said, opening every draw on my bedside table. "I must have left it in the Common Room. I'll be right back!" I said and jumped out of the dorm.

I hoped I would find no one in the Slytherin Common Room at the dead of night, because I didn't want anyone to see a strange girl in sweatpants, barefoot and agitatedly looking for a book. When I stepped in the main living room, I saw a man with white-blond laying on the arm of the green, leather sofa.

I instantly knew who it was and suddenly wanted to retrieve silently. When I took a step closer, I noticed Malfoy's eyes were closed; he was soundlessly snoozing. He was still wearing his black suit, only the blazer was now open and the first three buttons of the shirt were undone, like on the day I had met him at the National Gallery. A strongly built chest was showing underneath the silk fabric and the difference against the white of his skin was so apparent, that Malfoy looked like he was thrown out of an old, black and white film.

Indeed, he could easily play the rich gangster who held a gun to your face and read poetry in his free time while listening to classical music. The guy who would kidnap you but still save you for the film's crescendo. The James Bond who would get you a fancy dress and help you climb on the helicopter so that he could fly you away from the bad guy who wanted you dead.

Laying wide open and face down on his solid torso was my book. His fingers were still on its spine closing it near his heart. The book seemed to have been left mid-sentence on the tenth page by its tired reader.

He had his other arm behind his head, making himself a comfortable pillow. Under the black shirt, I could see thick muscles. He still had his rings on.

I don't know what sort of wild spirit jumped up from within me but I closed up to Malfoy. With extreme caution, I tried to push his hand away from the book's cover but with the lightest touch, Malfoy had already woken up and had jumped up.

"What the hell are you doing? Why the fuck are you touching me, you sleazy half-blood?" he said. It sounded more like a demand than a question and his eyes opened wider and wider; his ears turned red in anger.

"What the hell are you doing with my book?" I said and grabbed it from his hands.

"How was I supposed to know it was your book?"

"It has my name on it, genius!" I flipped to the second page and showed the bottom-right corner.

"Well, then don't leave your things all over the place!" With two fingers, he pushed my shoulder back with force.

"Or you should just stop touching things that aren't yours!" I shouted and imitated the same movement; with two pointed fingers, I pushed his shoulder back.

He took an aggressive step towards me and closed the distance between us. For the second time in the same day, he had his face so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my lips. The sour smoke and the bourbon was tangled with a sweet scent of mahogany.

"Don't you touch me again!" said the man who had pulled me close in a dark corner of a train with the sole purpose to intimidate me.

"Don't worry, Malfoy. Half-blood isn't catching."

The eye contact continued and, although I was never a loudly proud person, I felt like if I looked away I would lose some unofficial 'staring contest'. Partly, I didn't want to look away.

Drenched in anger, I returned to my dorm. Maya was already sleeping by then. I sat on the bed furiously and in the dark, I almost sat on Alaska's tail, so she wailed in pain and avoided me for a few minutes – the closest thing we had to a fight.

"I'm so sorry! Alaska! Honey! That asshole had me fuming! Alaska!"

But she was already under the bed and extremely mad at me.

My anger didn't dissolve as I was getting ready to go to sleep. I got under the covers and I opened the book. It was now creased on page 10. I smelled the pungent perfume I had smelled on the train. The two pages were drenched in that poison that he had for a scent and I melted a little as I inhaled. It was the smell of his chest.

"Well, shit," I said.

I brought the book near my nose for another sniff. Alaska must have noticed I was somehow flushed looking back my encounter with Malfoy and jumped on my lap. She then pushed her way under the book and put a paw on my chin. She was either stating that she forgave me for sitting on her tail, or was feeling that I was thinking of something I shouldn't be. I am leaning towards the latter.

"Oh, shut up, Alaska. I know."

_...And here I am now, struck by a sudden wave of insomnia and writing about my day to you and trying to tire myself with lengthy descriptions._

_Margot, I think I have to put the book aside for now. I'd rather stay up all night and write this abnormally long letter to you._

_See you soon,  
_ _Ophelia_

* * *


	16. Goals

D

So _what_ if I was bored and decided to read a book that I may or may not had recognized as the one Ophelia was holding in her hands in the train? So _what_ if I found it interesting? So _what_ if I wanted to steal it so I could follow the writer's train of thought; for indeed, what _was_ the moral obligation of a wizard in his abuse of his gifts? Which _were_ our responsibilities in a heavily mugglized world?

All those questions that were raised in the first chapter were now distracting me from one very important part of my life. That loathsome writer better not have written this book and lured me in with some interesting first pages, only to broadcast some vile muggle-loving propaganda.

I woke up extremely early the next morning – at about 5 o'clock. Blaise's tranquil snore must have woken me up but I could never go back to sleep from the moment I woke up. I got dressed quietly and decided to take a walk on the grounds. I would have started my first attempt on finding a Vanishing Cabinet at the Room of Requirement, but this was a task that had better be pursued after exact calculations and when my mind was at ease.

I took my first steps up the spiral staircase that led out of the dungeons but was immediately stopped by a hand on my shoulder. The hand pushed violently and spun me around.

"Going somewhere, Draco?"

Severus' interrogating eyes were haunting me. In the presence of this man, even a saint could feel guilty of an unknown deed.

"What do you want?"

"I am surprised you didn't come to see me. I am well aware your mother informed you that I offered my assistance concerning your... urging matters. I would have expected you to have come to my office the moment you set foot in Hogwarts last night," he said in a low, slow voice.

"Who said that I want your help?" I said and made a warning step in a desperate attempt to frighten him. Severus, however, was not one to buy threats. He took one, decisive step and he was suddenly towering over me in a way I could only compare to how my father looked down to me when I was a child.

"You don't? I heard you had quite a summer. Someone might say you are... afraid," he said, pointing out the last word.

"You can take my word for this, Severus; I am not afraid. And I will not be outshined by a mediocre teacher who wants to suck the glory out of whatever he puts his hands on. Why don't you stick where you're good at? Why don't you go spy on Dumbledore while I do the important work here?" I hissed.

"If you put half the effort you put into thinking clever insults into your effort to think of a plan of action, then you would have already succeeded," said Severus. "You have nothing to be afraid of from me. If anything, I want to protect you. I am your godfather after all," he added.

"Well, rest assure, I can protect myself – godfather," I said and pushed his arm out of my way.

I escaped the dungeons almost running. The sun had not risen yet but the sky was deep with reds and purples as I was making my way to past the Whomping Willow and to the shallow waters of the Dark Lake.

My head was always clearer here, under the old elm, near the banks of the lake, and I was determined to sit down and think through the details of my roughly devised plan. When was the right time to find the Vanishing Cabinet? Would a simple incantation be enough to mend it? The operation to get Death Eaters in the castle was complicated enough and I hadn't even started thinking of how I would kill the old man.

As the sun rose slowly behind the towers of Hogwarts, I realized I hadn't gotten a thought into my head without it being interrupted by two piercing hazel eyes. I could still feel the gentle touch on my fingers as she tried to take her book back.

I promised myself I would forget everything when classes started. It had happened to me a thousand times, I told myself. If I tried to count the times I had been briefly struck by interest for a girl, I would lose count.

 _It will go away in a couple of days_ , I told myself.

* * *

As for a confirmation that I was starting to lose it, came Slughorn's first lesson.

I never cared enough about Love Potions and such, in order to take a step closer to the cauldron and try to take a whiff of the deep red potion, like most of the girls did.

I had my eye on Ophelia; she was so uninterested and unbothered compared to the other girls. She must not have been particularly interested in anyone because what sane person would pass up the chance to smell who you want most?

I, for one, definitely did. There was no point in smelling a blunt potion.

But I had more important things to think of.

"This is what I offer each of you today. One tiny vial of Liquid Luck to the student that in the hour that remains, manages to brew an acceptable Draught of Living Death!" Professor Slughorn hadn't finished his sentence and my eyes were already glistening with longing.

If I needed something in this life at the moment, it was to win the damn vail of Felix Felicis. On a stand at the far end of the class, there was the clear, tear-shaped bottle and in its containers, I could see the success I most needed. In the sunlight that went through it, I could see my family happy again, I could see Voldemort getting Father out of Azkaban, I could see my mother smiling again, I could see my father proud of me for once. I could see me, alive and well. I could see a killing curse.

I quickly got to work. I was always good with Potions. It helped that over the past few years, Snape was constantly hovering over my head, advising me, but in the end, one could say that I had retained more knowledge than the Gryffindors, who never took Potions seriously.

I warmed up my cauldron and poured in the right amount of Standard Potioning Water. While I was waiting for it to come to a boil, I prepared the right quantity of Infusion of Wormwood and run to the nearby cupboard to fetch a sloth's brain. It seemed to be easier than I imagined.

And as I was walking back to the cauldron, repulsed by the slimy sight of the sloth's brain in the jar, I passed through that damned red potion and so strong was its aroma, that I thought Ophelia was standing right there in front of me. Cotton and wool. Ink and paper. Not parchment; muggle paper. Paint. Strangely, I smelled coffee and, although I despised the black drink which was mainly loved by the muggles, this time it smelled strong but sweet.

 _Okay, maybe it will take more than a couple of days for this crush to go away. I give it a week – tops_ , I thought.

"Who did you smell?" asked Blaise across the table.

"Shut up and let me concentrate for once. I need to win this thing," I said through my teeth.

But so intoxicating was the smell in my nostrils that I didn't forget about it. To this day, I don't know if it was my own fears or that smell that distracted me that day, but in any case, I had to catch myself being careless and produce a poor excuse for a potion and then watch Potter get the damned vail – that admittedly _I_ deserved or at least needed more.

Sometimes I thought I could never hate a human being more than I did Potter. I had grown up hearing about him. Father always said that he might be the next one to lead us to purity. After all, not every infant manages to take down a Dark Lord. I was told that when I went to Hogwarts, I was sure to befriend him and become his best influence on world domination. But he turned out to be a soft celebrity. He deserved nothing of what he had. He fought for mudbloods and blood-traitors. I never understood how a quarter-blood didn't want to forget his heritage. He deserved nothing of what he had. If he didn't have Dumbledore to save him all the time, he would be dead by now and Father wouldn't be in Azkaban.

"Come on, tell me who you smelled," insisted Blaise as we were taking our books for our next class, our first class of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

I was still fuming and it showed in my every move, from the way I walked to the dorm to the way I treated everything that stood in my way.

"I didn't even smell it," I lied.

"You liar. I saw it turning green and brown when you were passing by," said Blaise.

"Why do I get a feeling that you're starting this only because you want me to ask you who _you_ smelled?" I said, aware that Blaise was so caught up with his romances these days that this diversion of the subject was sure to keep his mind off my unfortunate infatuation.

"If you insist," he said predictably and laid on his bed heavily, then folded his hands behind his head and looked up to the canopy with a dreamy look. "I smelled Maya..." he said.

"Look at you, all sentimental and lovesick," I ignored much of Blaise's far-off look and took my book from my trunk, carefully folding whatever I had messed up. I didn't like much clutter in my room, something that we didn't have in common with Blaise.

"Me? No way..." he scoffed. "It's just that I'm free, she is free, we obviously got some chemistry... I mean in Paris-"

"Ta-ta-ta! I don't want to hear all disgusting details, Blaise."

"All I'm saying is that we really get along." And with that, he went back to his dreamy look. "But I think she kind of afraid of getting caught in a tough situation with Polyxeny – her being my ex and stuff. They are sort of friends."

"Yeah, at this point you're going to have the same problem with every girl you meet, since you've dated the whole school by now."

Blaise pointedly ignored by comment. I couldn't see much of a problem in this situation. When Blaise started dating Polyxeny she was my ex as well, but that never caused a problem between us. I struggled to see the difference in this situation, yet knew perfectly well that not everyone took relationships as lightly as my past self did.

"Ahh... You should have seen her today... She was looking at me when she was smelling the Love Potion. I bet she smelled me."

"What the hell is up with that potion! It doesn't mean anything! It could be wrong you know," I said and threw a sweater down in the pile without folding it – which only made Blaise jump up, because it was a sight no one, not even me, had yet witnessed.

"Oh, no! Who the hell did you smell!" he said. "Oh, Merlin... You smelled Pansy!" he exclaimed.

"What? Where did you get that idea?"

"You're obviously pretty upset and she is the only one you wouldn't _want_ to smell," he said with a snigger.

"I'm upset that I didn't win the damned Felix Felicis! Not because of some stupid Love Potion! I didn't smell the damned thing and if I had, Pansy would be the last one I would ever smell," I said and started making my way back to the common room, ready to get up the stairs and get over this nonsense.

"Then who was it?"

And as Blaise insisted and insisted, we walked into the main living room. It was entirely busy during the change of the periods, with Slytherins coming and going, grabbing their books or getting ready for Quidditch practices with the tryouts coming so soon.

Amongst them, just another Slytherin. My heart raced and pounded frantically. Ophelia walking with her hair on a messy braid as always, books held near her chest with one hand and a cup of milked and sugared coffee on the other one and suddenly the coffee smell in the potion made perfect sense.

It showed from the start that our ways would collide or at least get close to each other and I dreaded the moment. Blaise kept asking me who I smelled in the Love Potion and if I knew anything about Ophelia, it was that she wasn't stupid. I couldn't point my finger on what exactly was so bad about her hearing our light conversation but at that moment I felt anxious even in the thought.

"Come on! You're being so secretive! What's wrong with you these days? Is she a Slytherin?" Blaise shouted a tad too much as always.

"Shush! Shut up!" I hissed.

There she was, closing up. I acted like I was unaware of her existence but just then my hand brushes against hers. I look down at her and she is looking back. Our eyes meet. I did what came out naturally; I gave her a daring, cruel look, the one I had mastered over the years. And just like that, she is gone.

"Malfoy, you dirty dog..." said Blaise, now in a whisper. He seemed to have followed my eye contact as Ophelia was passing by and, in a true Blaise-like realization, he was suddenly overly excited. "No way!" he hissed. I discreetly turned around to check that Ophelia had been lost behind me and was not witnessing Blaise's embarrassingly emotional outburst.

"What are you talking about?" he said inconspicuously.

"Not that chick that went by..." he said with a smile that spread from ear to ear across his face.

"I don't even know her."

"Come on, I saw that look!" he said.

"Will you shut your mouth already? I don't even know her name."

"Yeah, what _is_ her name?" he said with a questioning look. "She hangs out with scarhead and Longbottom most of the time and I think she is a half-blood."

"Is she now..." I said.

"And you call _me_ lovesick!"

I stopped him in his tracks, pushed his shoulder back with force and hissed;

"Listen to me very closely, Blaise. I have much more important things to worry about than whatever it is you're filling your inexistent brain with!"

"Wow! What the hell is wrong with you! Lighten up!" he burst out.

"Your biggest problem is who you're going to shag this week. It's not like this for all of us. So just go screw Maya and in the meantime, don't assume that I only have a shag in my mind and leave me alone with my actual problems!"

I didn't expect him to follow me after that, neither did I want him to, for Blaise knew better than to make me explain one of my emotional outbursts.

That night, there would be a coming-back party raging next to the kitchens. The Hufflepuffs were, after all, the best at throwing parties. Everyone would go, no matter the house. I didn't. As much as I was wondering if Ophelia was there and who she might meet or who she is hanging out with, I didn't go.

So as Blaise began his hidden moves to get Maya back, I walked into the Room of Requirement for the first time.

It was easy – very easy indeed. I found the Vanishing Cabinet I had been looking for and just like that, I was one step closer; one step closer to my goal.

Funny thing about goals; all Blaise had in his mind was how to get Maya. All everyone was thinking these days was how to get a girlfriend or a boyfriend. What else could you expect from mere 16-year-olds? I was one of them. My instincts were telling me to drop everything and just worry about girls – no, scratch that. Girl. One girl. But I was now openly battling to think about something else, something more obviously important.

What would Father say, if he knew that I was terrified? He was confined in a jail cell, dirty and eating off the scraps of the guards, sleeping in a straw mattress and waiting for me to do something that would indirectly save him. What would he say if he knew I was wasting my thoughts and my time instead of doing what I should be?

I sent a letter to my mother and told her in carefully selected words that I found the Cabinet. I was proud of myself. I was doing what I had to and what I was destined to do.

I was sure that Blaise would either pass out somewhere in the Hufflepuff common room or turn up at sunrise. The dorm was mine.

At first, I only cried over the letter I had received from Father in the summer. _Don't disappoint me, son._ These words always helped put things into some perspective. Duty was calling. Soon, I realized crying wasn't enough. I smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. When the effects of smoke grew thin, I drank. I did so sparingly but still drank. But that wasn't enough either.

I unscrewed my safety razor and removed a blade. I sliced the skin only on the surface. I was a coward. I bloody coward. I couldn't even push harder. I pitied myself to sleep.

* * *


	17. Sleeping Arrangements

O

_September 13th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_Harry and Ron are beginning to forget all about my summer absence and I am glad. Life hasn't exactly resumed but it's not static either. It's in the happy moments when it's apparent that things have changed. When Ron tells a joke I either feel obligated to laugh or feel guilty for finding it actually funny. I don't know what's worse; lying to their face or feeling the shame on my skin?_ _  
_

_If I had missed anything here in Hogwarts, it was my spot in the Slytherin Common Room._

_The Common Room can be very cold sometimes because it touches directly to the Black Lake, so most of the Slytherins prefer sitting at the posh, leather couches near the fireplaces or at least get a snack from the small Dining Room that is set here in the dungeons._

_As for me, I like watching the waters dance as the last light of a tiring day dies out, curled up with a good cup of coffee and an interesting book. I don't mind bringing a second sweater or a blanket with me if it means spending some time alone in my forlorn nook, writing to you, Margot._

_I miss you, Margot. You don't know how much..._

The night must have fallen quickly while I was distracted writing. I was suddenly awakened from my daydreaming by the piercing cold that had managed to penetrate my clothes. As we were getting closer to midnight, my cosy corner became less so. Sometimes I forgot how quickly the autumns grew cold up here in Scotland.

Most of the Slytherins were tired after the first week of classes and had turned in early to make sure they would enjoy their walk at Hogsmeade first thing in the morning. I was always a night-owl and I think the third cup of coffee didn't help much, so I thought there was no harm in lousing around near the fire for another hour. I picked up my notebook and sat on the thick, green carpet, my back turned to the flames.

"Draco Malfoy, you swine! Don't you care about us in the slightest?" I heard Maya's whispered voice as she was walking down the staircase quickly.

"No, Maya Flint. Frankly, I do not give a damn about you two. I want to make use of my bedroom tonight because, oppositely to both of you," said Malfoy and showed Maya and Blaise Zabini, "I am a productive wizard that happens to have more urging matters to tend to than where I'm going to host my cosy 'slumber-party' by ruining my roommate's sleep!"

The three of them walked into the empty living room in hushed tones and were too caught up in their fighting to acknowledge my existence. Only Malfoy caught a very brief glimpse of me. He stood up straight, he ran his hand through his hair, he adjusted his rings on his fingers. I watched his behaviour change ever so slightly. Harsh though he would continue to be, he would try to force out any speck of coolness.

"Oh, come on, Draco! It's just one night!" said Blaise in a calm tone. It seemed that Blaise Zabini was always the most collected in any situation.

"Blaise this is not a negotiation. Go sleep in Maya's dorm!" said Draco.

"And where is _my_ roommate going to sleep?" said Maya.

"Do I have some sort of label on my face that says I care?" said Malfoy and shrugged his shoulders.

He walked to the nearby table that always served hot tea for the Slytherin who needed it. As the couple kept fighting behind him, Malfoy pretended to fill up a cup with some tea but instead pulled out a flask and poured a honey-brown liquid in the porcelain. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Blaise and Maya were too busy discussing so that he could screw the lid back on the flask and hide it masterfully.

When his eyes met mine, he didn't seem to care at all. On the contrary, he continued in his cool and cold disposition. I watched some colour rise to his face as he took his first sips. I was beginning to worry about Malfoy's liver, for I was now sure that the bourbon I smelled in his breath whenever he exhaled the smoke out of his lungs was not a fragment of my imagination, but was instead present and thriving. No wonder why he was always talkative in our few encounters; they just happened to take place when he was tipsy – or was he _always_ tipsy.

No. No, that couldn't be right. If that were true, he should be talkative with everyone else as well and Draco Malfoy was not his most outgoing self nowadays. He spent his days alone and without making a sound. When he should be making jokes during classes, he was lost in deep thoughts. When he should be bullying second-years, he was hidden somewhere, watching the rainfall. It made perfect sense to me. However much I despised him, I could only imagine what it would be like if Dad was in Azkaban. I would grow cold as well.

"Come on, Malfoy! Just this once!" said Maya in an unusually high-pitched voice.

"Forget it. Shoot _your_ roommate out."

"We should at least ask her if she has a problem with it," Blaise turned to Maya.

"Forget it! Thanks to you and your impeccable urge to talk to me on our first night back, she is one of the only ones who knows something is going on between us. She could blow things up as it is. I don't want to owe her more favours," said Maya in a whisper. I wondered if they were actually dense enough to think their voices couldn't reach my ears. It wasn't in their nature to hide from anyone. Then again I might have been too nosy.

"Come on, she seems like a seriously okay person," suggested Blaise.

"I don't feel comfortable asking her _that_ ," said Maya.

Indeed, Maya was desperately trying to hide any trace of romance between her and Blaise since the founding of their official relationship after the Hufflepuff party. I had just returned from the Gryffindor Common Room, where I was attending our now traditional first-night game-night, when I almost walked in on Blaise and Maya in our dorm. I was discreet enough to wait outside and squeezed my eyes together in resentment until they finished their job. On the next morning, I caught her concealing her hickeys with a spell. At the moment, I had thought that they were being too obvious for a secret couple but I was soon corrected. Two weeks had gone by and Polyxeny was yet unaware of their relationship.

Watching all this felt like watching a dramatic film for teenagers and it offered a pleasant break from my very unromantic life.

"Is there a problem?" I finally said to the three of them with a long exhalation.

"Who the hell asked you to butt in, half-blood?" snapped Malfoy in his usual demeaning tone.

"Well, I wasn't going to intervene, but since you are so obviously referring to me, I think you are the rude ones here," I raised an eyebrow, cursing the moment I decided to waste my time to the oh-so-dramatic people fate had placed in my way.

"We never mentioned you, you lunatic!" bellowed Malfoy.

"She is my roommate, Malfoy!" said Maya raising a hand to stop him.

" _She_ is your roommate?" said Malfoy and suddenly his eyes were stuck to mine, his face turning red by the second. Who knew what he might have been thinking?

"Okay, since we are being all so obvious... Ophelia," said Maya, "I know this is too much to ask but could you possibly sleep somewhere else tonight?" she said and held Blaise's hand tightly.

"You could even sleep on my bed if you want!" added Blaise quickly, desperate to find a solution.

"Hey, hey! I'm drawing a veto here! There is no way I'm sleeping in the same dorm as a half-blood muggle-lover," said Malfoy, throwing himself heavily on an armchair and slowly took a sip of his so-called tea.

"I am going to agree to that, actually. Bloodists creep me out... Yikes..." I said. When I threw a teasing look to Malfoy, he looked even more aggravated than before.

"Do you happen to have anywhere else to sleep?" Maya seemed tired of listening to our petty fight.

"I'm sorry, Maya. Can this wait till tomorrow? I can always sleep with my friends in Gryffindor-" (and at this point, Malfoy's eyes shot up to mine with something that, at the moment, I recognized as anger) "-but I'm kind of tired tonight. I'd rather stay put," I said.

The couple, although disappointed, quickly understood that they could not make any demands from a girl they didn't know well, or at least chose to never mingle with in school. It was easier to turn their attention to Malfoy once again, eyes begging.

"Forget it," he spat out.

"It's just a night. Tomorrow we will sleep at my dorm. Tonight Ophelia is tired. You're not going to throw a tired lady out of her bedroom, are you Malfoy?" said Maya with a sardonic smile.

"Oh, it's exactly what I'm going to do."

"How chivalrous," I muttered and returned to my book, struggling to no look at the angry Malfoy.

"If you want chivalry, you should go to your beloved Gryffindors. I'm sleeping in my bed as usual. I'm tired as well. Find some other place."

"Oh, come on, Draco..." said Maya, distracting him from his quarrel.

"I said forget it! I am not losing sleep because you two need a love nest and because the little snowflake doesn't want to part her teddy bear!"

"Hey, mister! I'm right here!" I said.

"Yeah, I know you are, Blackwood!" he muttered.

"For the last time," I said and drew a deep breath. "It's Blackthorn!" I screamed at him.

I locked my eye-contact to Malfoy's and for a moment I swear I could see him hiding a snigger. That arse was mistaking my name on purpose! That bloody puritist was making a hobby out of fighting with me!

The tension between us grew thicker with every stare and before soon we had entered into another who-is-going-to-look-angrier contest.

"Do you two know each other?" said Maya throwing a finger back and forth.

"-Us? No!"

"-No way!"

Malfoy looked up to the ceiling to avoid Blaise because his eyes were opening wider and wider and he was opening his mouth in an overall look of either naughtiness or realization.

"You son of a-" Blaise tried to exclaim.

"Shut up, Blaise!" he hissed with a high-pitched snap that could only mean embarrassment.

"Oh, for fuck sake! It's just one night!" said Maya with a face of complete exhaustion because both she and I couldn't have fewer clues about what was going on between the boys.

Malfoy threw his hands up, rolled his eyes with enervation and shot up at once. "Fine!" he yelled. He set his teacup aside on a nearby coffee table and made his way to the staircase that led to the dorms.

"Really?" said Blaise with a face of bliss and thankfulness as Malfoy walked past him crossly.

"You owe me big time!" His voice was quickly disappearing as he was running hurriedly to his dorm. "You better use a protection charm, Blaise, because, purebloods or not, idiots like you shouldn't even be allowed to procreate. Fucking-"

The smacking of a door interrupted his loud monologue.

"He'll get over it," Maya assured me unnecessarily.

"Deep down, he is a real sweetheart," said Blaise nodding.

Malfoy must have heard that little remark as he was returning to the living room, muttering curses and carrying a pillow, a blanket and a pack of cigarettes. He threw everything on the couch in front of me and then turned his attention to Blaise with a violent push.

"Sweetheart! SWEETHEART?" he yelled. "Say that again! I swear to Merlin-" Malfoy made aggressive steps and was either successfully intimidating or ready to throw some fists, when Maya stepped in between them.

"Alright, tough guy! Thank you for your services and we will see you tomorrow! Sleep tight! Sweet dreams!" she said and pushed Blaise up the stairs. When they were out of sight, we heard sniggering and laughing until the dorm door closed once and for all.

When they were gone, Malfoy's first action was to drink the whole remainder of his 'tea' to subdue his anger. Then he threw his pillow in the right position and took off his black blazer. He threw his shoes off and spread his legs on the sofa. When he angrily flicked the grey blanket to spread it evenly on top of him, it emitted his pungent smell of expensive perfume – the same smell that had drenched the first pages of the book I was holding.

"Weren't you tired?" he snapped.

"I am. It's a few more pages to the end of the chapter, though," I said, not raising my eyes to him.

I could have taken my book and finish the chapter in peace in the safety of the bed I had so stubbornly claimed. I told myself that I was way too comfortable to get up but deep inside I knew I just wanted to stay here, where Malfoy was present.

"I was kicked out of my bed because of you, princess! All because you were _too tired_ but you are still up _reading_?" he said.

"I said I'm going in a second! And if you want someone to blame for today's sleeping arrangements, it's teenage hormones, not a stranger you once met at a museum. Don't put it out of me," I said.

Malfoy laid with his stomach facing the ceiling and tried to spread his legs but either the couch was too short or Malfoy was too tall for it. He pulled on the knot of his tie and made some way for a few buttons to become undone. Was it too hot in here or was I just sitting too close to the fire?

"I can't even get comfortable..." he said, tossed and turned, cussed and murmured curses.

"Oh, for fuck sake, be quiet! I'm trying to read!" I hissed at him.

"A half-blood muggle-lover that curses. Aren't you supposed to be this bundle of joy and hippie flowers?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, I am not."

Draco's stone-cold eyes wondered to the ceiling again and I could feel him slowly getting calmer. He would turn to watch me whenever I flipped to the next page. The most rational explanation for this would be that he couldn't wait for me to finish the chapter and be on my way. I idly wished and thought it was the entire opposite.

"Is it any good after all?" he said.

"The book you so shamelessly took without asking?"

"Yes," he simply said with no sight of shame. If there was anything worse than him returning my insults, it was ignoring them.

"If you're a sucker for philosophy, it is," I said.

"Weird. You're such a little snowflake; I thought you'd be the teenage romance novel kind of girl."

"Why would I read such a thing when I have Blaise and Maya producing fresh content right before my eyes every day?"

"I thought all girls liked those," said Malfoy.

"That's insanely objectifying. Everyone has their own taste. I just happen to like philosophy more than soaps."

In his aura, I could sense he wanted to say something more, maybe ask if he could borrow my book after I was done, but he never did.

He put an unlit cigarette between his lips, only for the sensation of it. He wanted to smoke but he knew it was impossible in here. He was getting uneasy.

"Do _you_?" I asked. "Like philosophy?" I added when faced with his confused look.

"No, not really," he answered. "But I guess this one seemed... cute," he said and showed the book in my hands.

" _Cute_?" I impersonated.

"Well yes. I can't take moral philosophy books very seriously. All this talk about morality and principals is very good until you actually _are_ in a position to choose between something morally right or wrong. I'd like to see this Eudoxus Perrish choose something more than which writing hat is going to make him think harder."

You know Draco Malfoy is annoyed or on edge when he talks a lot. Of course, it depends on the people around him, but generally speaking, when he is annoyed, he gets talkative. With an unlit cigarette, with the urge to smoke, with the annoyance of not being able to do so, he started unexpectedly blabbing.

Yet, for the first time this night, his voice was calmer, softer. It was still colourless, make no mistake, but at least it wasn't as aggressive as before.

"You're not wrong at that," I admitted.

"I'd like to read a book on morals with someone with actual problems. Well, I know I won't because they don't exist. People with problems don't have time to write or even think about morals."

It was easy to assume Draco Malfoy didn't care about deeply torturing things such as morals or philosophy. Now, hearing him talk, I could sense he might have put more thought into it than any other wizard I knew.

"Well, then _you_ should write a book on magical moral philosophy," I said bravely, knowing what kind of snowball effect would soon hit me.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco Malfoy sat up and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees antagonistically.

Under normal circumstances I would have leaned forward as well, to assert my dominance, but now, seeing him distressed, I hesitated.

"You said it yourself. A person with problems should give a fresh perspective on the practicalities of such matters," I argued but as he narrowed his eyes, I couldn't help but bite my lip, something that didn't escape Draco's notice. He focused on it for a shadow of a second, only to make me feel vulnerable, and then returned to his hostile gaze.

"What makes you think I _have_ any problems?" he said, the corner of his nose turning upwards in disgust.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Intuition," I answered, tilting my head sideways. If I was weak, I wouldn't show it.

"You really shouldn't assume things about people you don't know," he said, sat back on the sofa and spread his arms on each of his sides arrogantly. "Why don't you go back to your safe little book? Maybe this profoundly bored writer will teach you some decency."

He crooked his brutal jawline and pursed his lips in irritation.

"Between the both of us, _I_ am not the one who needs some decency lessons," I said.

Malfoy didn't speak after that, mostly because his irritation was getting out of hand. He passed his unlit cigarette from one hand to the other, breathing out heavily.

He decided to settle in and have a second try on sleeping but his eyes wouldn't stay closed for more than a few seconds.

"I can't sleep," he announced, sat up again and quickly tied his laces.

"Where are you going?" I said.

"I need to smoke. I'm going for a walk," he said and threw his blazer on. He looked just like every day, only now his hair was messed up from his fight with sleep, and I would be lying if I said this one curl that was dangling in front of his eyes wasn't charming.

"It's 1 o'clock. Filch will catch you," I informed and tried not to show much interest.

"I have my ways."

"Well, you're notorious for getting Slytherin in trouble. As a fellow Slytherin, I have the moral obligation to not let your smoking get in the way of Slytherin winning the House Cup for the fifth year in a row," I said.

"You are aware that everyone stops caring about the House Cup by third year, right?" said Malfoy and smoothly went up the stairs two steps at a time, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Well, I happen to care about the second-years' vulnerable, little souls."

Draco stopped in his tracks, as if he had reached a revelation. He turned around slowly and returned to my spot. He looked down at me with a smirk I had often seen him use on others, a smirk that had been recently replaced with a blunt expression. But now he looked like his old self. He leaned forward and brought his face near mine, as if he was about to spill out a huge secret – again, he was good with asserting his dominance.

"You want to come with me and it really shows," he said.

My heart skipped a beat.

"You're too afraid to ask me to go with you and _that_ really shows."

I bet his skipped one too.

The smirk faded from Draco's face.

"Get the blanket," he ordered.

_...Margot, I must be losing it! This is the same boy that punched Harry's face a few weeks earlier. What was I doing, taking a bloody walk with him in the middle of the night? How strange is it that as sneaked our way to the Black Lake, it felt so natural, so normal and ordinary?_

_See you soon,  
_ _Ophelia_

* * *


	18. Black Lake

D

If I ever loved anything in Ophelia, it is that she could read me like one of her books; easily, quickly and tirelessly.

She knew that I liked her. Maybe she had her doubts and maybe she didn't realise what else was going through my head as I was getting closer, but she knew. She always knew.

Filch always preferred surveilling the moving stairs or the Gryffindor Tower, because it was always the Gryffindors that liked to sneak out after hours. Therefore, we easily managed to escape the dungeons and made our way to the yard through the kitchens. We passed Hagrid's hut and immobilized the Whomping Willow. Ahead of us, the Black Lake was only visible through the tranquil reflection of the moon.

"You seem to know your way around," said Ophelia.

The moon was in its Waning Crescent phase, although still vibrant. We lit our wands and were careful with our steps. I had to keep being careful of the tone of my voice. I was strangely finding myself walking in a strained manner, pointedly relaxed and effortlessly careful. I didn't want to stumble. Of course, back then I was so self-absorbed that I persuaded myself that I always walked in such a cool manner. I was such a bad liar when it came to myself.

"I do that a lot actually," I said.

"Never during the night I assume," she said.

"You would assume wrong."

"And you _always_ do that in an expensive suit that you could easily ruin?" She showed me from head to toe provocatively.

"At least I blend in..."

I watched Ophelia carry the blanket close to her chest. Soon I felt like an arse for not offering to carry it for her.

"Give me that," I snapped and grasped the blanket off her hands. Why couldn't I be nice to her for once?

"The chivalry," she said, her voice reeking irony.

"You're funny," I scoffed. I didn't want to leave any trace of ordinary acts of kindness. If they existed, they had to remain concealed.

It wasn't far. To reach the old oak tree, we had to pass through the narrow path, where the wild trees of the Forbidden Forest touched the banks of the Black Lake. There, we hopped from rock to rock. I had done that a hundred times, yet I was afraid this would be the night when I would fall in the shallow waters below.

I hopped on the grass in relief. Ophelia was still struggling to accurately spot the slippery rocks.

"You know you may _look_ like an asshole but I am beginning to suspect that you actually _are_ an asshole. Who the hell doesn't offer a hand to help?" she said pointedly. "Well, at least 8 years of ballet classes didn't go to complete waste." This one, she muttered, like she didn't want to be heard.

"Well, come on then. What's taking so long."

" _Odile's coda_ isn't half as hard..." she kept muttering and scoffing as she put her foot gently on the last rock. She ran her shoe over the surface a few times to determine the most stable place to step on.

"Harder than _Odile's coda_? How dramatic of you..."

I bet she didn't expect me to know what _Odile's coda_ was and, indeed, if I didn't play the piano and if Mother wasn't a friend of the fine arts, I wouldn't know about this legendary ballet act.

She opened her eyes widely. She never would have seen this coming. She had watched me snob paintings in a museum less than a month ago. I had called her moral philosophy 'cute' just a few minutes prior. I could see why she was surprised and I revelled in the knowledge of something as particular as Odile's coda.

She played it cool.

"Well, I never survived that either, so I might as well compare them..."

Not one of her best answers. She must have been too stunned to think of one of her sassy answers.

I watched her as she hopped into the meadow and suddenly many things made sense.

I remembered the way she danced that night at the Yule Ball; the night we met. I remembered how smooth each movement was, how elegantly she carried herself, how easily she followed the rhythm of that one song. She was almost floating in the room, daintily swaying from side to side. She was never impressed by twirls... She was a dancer. Maybe she didn't still dance but the poise had remained.

Suddenly, I realized how many things I didn't kn0w about her; how little of her I had absorbed; how many secrets I was yet to discover.

I spread the blanket on the damp ground and sat comfortably, resting my back against the elm tree.

Ophelia sat opposite me. She had her back to the lunar slice and the moonshine was so bright that her face seemed darker and hidden.

I didn't make a sound but she was sure of what I wanted so she opened the book and started reading.

" _...and used them as conduits for the practice of alchemy. The side effects of the potions were unknown at the time and although most of the experiments were harmless at the time or easily reversible, most of the muggles developed conditions heavily unexplained to the muggle world. Although in most cases the muggle lives were saved and their memories modified, at the 3rd of October 1778 the Ministry of Magic enrolled the Protocol for the Ban of the Use of Muggles in Magical Experiments._

_"Although there have only been only a few recorded cases of muggles being abused for such purposes the same doesn't stand for minor enchantments for the pure benefits of wizards-"_

"I don't get," I interrupted. "If their memories are modified, then what's the big deal?" I shrugged.

"How would you feel if some random wizard used the Imperious Curse on you? It's literally the same thing. Even when they didn't use the actual curse of them, they used them for what they needed and then threw them away with an Obliviating Spell."

I was unmoved but bothered. I had been brought up in a world where the Unforgivable Curses were not that unforgivable. Father used them and managed to escape the judgement of the law one way or another. The equivalent of these curses was not that unforgivable either. In a way, I couldn't think like any other cloistered, sugared teenager in this school. I bet no one had known the reality of the world. These manipulations were more often than people thought them to be. Ophelia seemed terrified in the thought of a person being used – well that was an everyday matter where I came from.

" _Gellert Grindelwald, a firm believer of the superiority of the wizard's nature, forced muggles into subservices and often neglected to return them to their world but rather killed them or sold them for servants_ -"

"Is this what this book is about?" This time I interrupted indeed. "It's a chapter from our History of Magic textbook? How in Merlin's name did I find it interesting the other night?" I said.

"How else are you going to discuss morals, if you don't see examples from this world?"

I never understood why Grindelwald was always under attack in the school books. Yes, of course, he was a dark wizard. Of course, he cursed people but I strongly believed he was a product of his times with valid ideas and beliefs. He started the revolution before the Second Muggle War. He had heard the prophesies; he knew what these muggles were capable of. Wars, guns, concentration camps, atom bombs; Grindelwald knew he could save millions, both muggles and wizards. It is no wonder that many, including my ancestors, followed him. But no, for the new generation he was nothing but a murderer. He was still locked away and the muggle wars never stopped.

"This is getting boring, though," I complained. It wasn't getting boring. It was getting complicated.

Ophelia closed the book. She slid it across the blanket, her hand spread out over the cover. When I made to take it, I had hoped for our hands to touch, but there was no natural way for this to happen and maybe it was for the best; she was half a muggle after all. Who would want to touch her?

"Here," she said. "Read it at your own pace."

I flicked a couple of pages. The paperback book had a couple of creases here and there and the pages were full of notes in their margins.

"What have you done to this book? It looks disgusting," I said. "Have you never heard of bookmarks?" I said and showed the corner of a page. It seemed Ophelia had folded it in between readings.

"That's why I like paperbacks. They fit into your pocket, if you don't mind bending them, and they are so cheap that you don't mind writing your own thoughts in them. I wouldn't do this to a nice hardback," she explained.

"I would never defile a book like that," I said.

"Do you want it or not?" she attacked. I tossed the book aside and patted my surroundings with my hands to feel my cigarettes somewhere on the blanket. "And I want it back," she added.

"Well, that depends on if I like the outcome or not," I said.

For the first time, she didn't complain about the smoke in the sight of me inhaling, so I blew some of it on her so as to awaken her. When she waved her hand back and forth in front of her face, I was satisfied.

"How come you are interested in philosophy?" I said.

I suddenly had pure interests in her life. What else could I find out besides that she had a muggle mother and that she took (or still takes) ballet classes?

"I must have got it from my mother."

I felt my face changing involuntarily. If it had been kind for a second, it was turning back to disgusted without controlling it. But Ophelia had thrown her head back and was looking at the night sky so she kept on talking, unaware I would rather not hear a word about her mother.

"She studied Philosophy and Liberal Studies in college, so she read all the great philosophers of the muggle world; Aristotle, Kant, Machiavelli, Sun Tzu and, her personal favourite, Plato. I know it's not the most usual bed-time story but I grew up with all that. As I grew older, I tried to find what the wizards had to offer in that field as well."

She made a long pause at that point but I never added a thing; either because I didn't know what to say or because I didn't want her to stop talking just yet.

"In our house," she continued, "we have this bookcase that takes an entire wall in the living room. The library is separated in half by the fireplace." She made a visual image with wide hand gestures. She was as excited as when she was talking to me about Van Gogh in the museum. I suspected she didn't often talk about her interests. "So, the right half is all my mother's books and the left half is my dad's. Mum has all these encyclopedias and huge volumes and dissertations and Dad sticks to books about Aurors and detectives. But I find it very nice that we keep all the books in one place. This way you can jump from one world to another just by browsing right or left. It was Mum's idea, of course."

Ophelia had a satisfied, faint smile on her face. I could feel what she might have been thinking. There are some stories that you never tell because you think they are too boring, too insignificant for the listener. But it was these small stories that give you most of your happiness throughout your life. I dived back into bitter thoughts.

If _I_ started telling such stories, I would get sad; not satisfied.

"I must admit I never imagined that your mother is a philosopher. Muggles aren't big thinkers." At that point, Ophelia rolled her eyes but seemed too tired to answer, so I continued. "Is that a normal career path for those muggles?"

"No, it's not very common and that's why she never followed it actually. A degree in Philosophy doesn't open many doors and a professor's pay was really low back then. She did have an offer to continue her studies in Scotland, but then my grandpa passed away and Mum inherited our café. And by that time she had already met Dad, she was expecting me... so she never sold it."

"She must be miserable," I said in a cold tone.

"No, she is not _miserable_ ," she said and made a mockingly dramatic face. "She loves the coffee shop. And she says she is better at reading about philosophy than actually producing it. And I think it suits her more. Mum has a very bright personality and for some reason, I have associated philosophy with some obscure, eccentric individual. Mum is the intact opposite of that," she explained.

I couldn't help but notice how easily she referred to her mother as 'Mum'. Although I myself had some moments of simplicity as well, I would never call her 'Mum' in public and I always thought it rude when someone called their parents with simplistic names. They sounded more like nicknames to my ears.

"Have you ever been told that you sound like a Ravenclaw?" I said, diverging the matter as far away from her muggle mother as possible.

"No. Why?"

"I don't know. I mean, yeah, you wear black and green all the time but you read a lot of books and you are interested in art. You listen to a lot of music and you like to wear something that resembles a school uniform even outside of classes," I said and showed her white collar. Even now she was wearing a white shirt under a knit jumper. It was becoming her signature. "Not to mention that you use words and sentences that are way too long."

At that second, Ophelia threw me a somewhat dumbfounded look and I soon realized I had just indirectly admitted to paying close attention to what she did or said or wore. She never said a thing about it but I'm sure she noticed.

"Yeah, I also hate mornings, I love coffee, I am persuaded that I could probably go for days without talking to anyone and supplement my anxiety and awkwardness with sarcasm and mild insults," she added. "The Slytherin levels are high indeed."

"Those could as easily be Ravenclaw traits," I argued.

"Most of the traits one can have could potentially align to any damn house. It all comes down to what you value most."

"And what _do_ you value most?"

"I am 16. Am I supposed to have already figured out my whole value system?"

It was an astonishingly Slytherin answer, so I broke a smile.

"Anyway, I'm sure the Hat knows what it's doing before _we_ do. That, or it really wanted to confirm the endless ironies in my life."

"Hmm, what?"

"My name is Ophelia? It comes from the word 'Ophis'. My name literally means 'snake'. I swear to God, I think my parents forced Dumbledore to put the hat on my head when I was a baby so that they could find a name."

"Well, even that is better than 'Draco'," I said unwillingly.

"Oh, come on. It's a nice name," she said.

"It sounds ridiculous. I got teased about it for ages. I don't know what my father's obsession with dragons is, but it certainly destroyed a life," I said.

"It's not that bad." She gave me the closest thing to a laugh that I had heard from her up until then. I would hear that laughter very often from then on but whenever I try to trace my memories back to the first time, I decide that this was it.

"Yeah, if you have gotten used to it, it's not half-bad but honestly now; didn't you want to laugh to death when you first heard it?" I said and it was hard to keep myself from smiling when I saw her amused.

"You could find yourself a nickname," she suggested.

"Father disapproved of every nickname my mother tried giving me," I noted.

"Errmm what about Dracy." She seemed to have completely ignored my comment completely.

"That sounds disgusting. And also an ex used to call me that, so even the sounds makes me sick."

"Drake," she suggested quickly.

"Nah, that sounds way too American."

"Dray?"

My smile faded.

'Dray' was one of my mother's favourites. Father called it _soft_ , of course.

"That's actually a good one," I said.

I vaguely tried to imagine my everyday life with this name. Somehow it didn't suit me.

"No..." I concluded. "No, it sounds way too soft."

"And you are anything but soft," Ophelia agreed in an honest face.

Maybe in another life, 'Dray' would suit me. Dray was a normal boy, whose biggest issues had to do with school assignments and Friday night parties. Dray loved dogs and cats equally, adored flying on his broomstick and liked staring at the moonlight. Dray was in love with some random girl. Yes, Dray and I were very similar indeed. I _was_ Dray.

But in this life, I wasn't _just_ Dray. I was also Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the richest, proudest and purest families in this world. I was the last of the Malfoy blood and destined to ensure my legacy survived. I was born with one mission; to honour the family name. More recently I became the man that was chosen to kill Albus Dumbledore. I was more than just Dray; I was more than a simple boy. I was an expectation; a living and breathing expectation.

And thus, if Dray was alive in some deep part of my soul, he was buried behind the idea that was Draco Malfoy. Dray was so deeply buried that nothing of him was left. When you looked at me, all you could see was that Draco Malfoy.

"Dray doesn't sound like me at all."

There was a long pause. We settled down in our silence and quietly revelled in it.

I started noticing small things on her face again, like on the night we met. Where did she get that little white scar on her skin? It never showed when it was bright. Somehow the moonlight brought out each curve, each hollow.

"I'm cold," she said.

"And this is my problem because..." I shrugged.

"Get up," she ordered. I stared a bit lost. "Get up!"

She pushed my cigarettes and the book aside, she pulled out her wand and performed a simple spell to extend our blanket. She sat back down, this time with her back on the tree trunk right next to my seat, she grabbed the excess fabric in front of her and folded it over her feet.

"You can sit down now," she said.

It was smart of her to have figured out a way to both sit on the dry blanket and stay warm under it, but now I had to sit right next to her. She saw I was hesitant.

"How many times do I have to tell you that half-blood isn't catching?" he said and patted the space next to her.

"Okay," I said forcefully.

I sat back down and spread the blanket over me, leaving a hefty distance between me and Ophelia. Only when I crossed my feet and got comfortable, my silver flask slipped from the pocket of my trousers.

"Woops..." said Ophelia in her casually ironic tone and then laughed.

"What are you laughing about?" I said as I was securing it next to me.

"What do we have over here?"

To that, I remained serious.

And then came the eye contact no one could avoid. She was sitting right next to me but no amount of proximity could be enough. I cursed myself for sitting so far away from her. I needed an excuse to get closer.

I noticed she was smiling, which only made me self-aware of my own lips. Was I smiling too? But the best moment came when our smiles faded and we were only left with that naked, bare eye contact. I was looking so deeply in her that I saw her pupils dilate; she was attracted to me. I wonder if mine did too.

"Do you think I haven't smelled the alcohol in your breath?" The words were breathed out of her mouth.

Now, I just wanted to stain her lips with that bourbon breath.

"You must have been awfully close..." I said.

Fuck, I wanted to lean in. She was still in some distance. Why did those few centimetres exist? I didn't want to kiss her, no. I just wanted her a little bit closer.

"Do you want some?" I finally asked.

"What? No!" she exclaimed.

"You're such a nice girl, aren't you? You hang out in museums and you wear your nice little shirts and sweaters and you never drink and you're so against smoking... I'll have a talk with Snape. You have to be thrown out of Slytherin. The Hufflepuffs can have you," I scoffed. I was instantly reminded that I had neglected my cigarettes for far too long. I lit one at once.

"Is it a crime to be kind to my body?" she said.

"It's a crime to deprive it of pleasures." Fuck, I wanted to lean in again. "What kind of Slytherin are you if you don't punish your body every time you have some mild problem you're yet to face?"

"Well, then that proves I don't have any real problems." I knew she was lying because she dropped her eyes to her hands. It was an invitation. It was the moment to unlock her.

"No one that holds back tears outside a Joke Shop has zero problems..."

There was no point in hiding; I unscrewed the lid of the flask and sipped. It was now half-empty and I was saving some for her. I knew she would eventually drink some.

"Tosser..." she said through narrow eyes.

She slid beside me and took the flask from my hands. And thus, ever so smoothly, I had her next to me without even having to move.

She chocked on the sour flavour coughed loudly. She tried again and this time only squinted.

"You call this 'pleasure'?"

Fuck, I wanted to lean in again. I wanted to lay her on that blanket and pleasure would come easy to both of us.

I shook my head.

"When you drink enough, it is."

She took another small sip and passed the flask back to me.

Skin met skin. Fuck, I wanted to lean in...

I didn't drink more. Alcohol usually made me numb but, in her presence, it made me bold. I didn't trust myself.

We talked until our eyes got heavy and the night grew cold. As if arranged, we stood, folded the blanket and started walking towards the castle.

The moon was at its highest point and we were getting our energy back just by walking.

"Oh, great. Now I'm wide awake again," said Ophelia. "I knew I shouldn't have drunk that third cup of coffee..."

"We could go back..." I said and stopped at my tracks, showing the forest behind us. When I was met with her unexpected smile, my fears were confirmed; my voice had been too eager and she had noticed. By Merlin, what was wrong with me?

"No, it's fine. We are already halfway back and you seem tired. I'm going to listen to some music and try to go to sleep."

Due to my sentimental and eager response a few seconds ago, I didn't want to confess that I was now wide awake as well and not tired at all. I wanted to stay up all night and watch the sunrise. I wanted to talk about philosophy and get bored and talk about nicknames again. Why couldn't we play this night in a loop?

"You can't play music in the middle of the night. You'll wake the whole Slytherin common room."

"I have headphones, remember?" she said.

"The wires?"

"Yes," she breathed this out with a discreet burst of laughter.

"How does that even work? There is no way that you can hear a single thing through these tiny, little things," I said.

"You can hear it very well and it's even better than playing it on a record player because it shuts every other sound out. It's like... music but more intense somehow," she explained.

"I don't believe you."

"Do you want to try them on?" she suggested with a sardonic smile.

"What? No. I'll die before I put this filthy, muggle devise in my ears," I said decisively.

"Well, I'll bring them tomorrow just in case you change your mind," she said absentmindedly.

I felt flushed with fever. She had indicated that this walk would repeat itself and she seemed eager to make it happen – and although something inside me was already anxiously waiting for the next night some wild force pushed the sense back into my body with such strength that I ended up saying this;

"Tomorrow? Bold of you to assume there is a chance we will meet again," I said with a cold calm voice although my mind was anything but calm.

"Isn't there?" Her expression was somewhere between the contradicting feelings of condescension and embarrassment.

"Of course not. I would never be friends with some proud, half-blood muggle-lover. Tonight was an exception."

Ophelia dived back into her silence.

Now, looking back, I can see how I may have seemed to her. Sure, then indecisive; calm, then irritable; friendly, then hostile.

The fire had died out in the Slytherin Common Room. I returned to my spot on the sofa and watched Ophelia silently heading to the spiral staircase that led to the girl's common room. We didn't even say goodnight to each other.

I had hoped that she would say something. I had totally disregarded any connection that might have been starting to form, yet now I was somehow let down?

Sometimes I was really surprised at how quickly I could ruin things a second after they got good.

It was for the best; I reminded myself. Who would need something distracting at a crucial time? Again, I had let my imagination run away with me. Now, I had to return to my difficult reality.

_Back to normal now, Draco. You need no soul._

When I was alone, the effect of Ophelia's distraction was quickly wearing off. At least I didn't cry myself to sleep that night, like most of the nights before. I told myself that I simply didn't feel comfortable enough to allow myself some tears, since I wasn't in the safety of my bed.

My forearm was numb with pain. Was it burning like this the whole night? Did I only just notice?

* * *


	19. Minor Charges

O

_September 14th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_It was one of these times when you wake up and smile for some unknown reason._

_When I played the events of last night in my head, it was evident that I had no reason to be smiling, of course. No matter how natural it all felt, no matter how much time had passed since I last didn't want a night to end, n̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶t̶e̶n̶s̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶b̶l̶o̶o̶d̶y̶ ̶l̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶n̶e̶s̶s̶e̶d̶,̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶v̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ ̶g̶o̶t̶ ̶(̶s̶o̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶b̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶m̶e̶m̶o̶r̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶e̶m̶b̶a̶r̶r̶a̶s̶s̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶d̶r̶e̶a̶m̶ ̶b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ ̶w̶e̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶l̶e̶e̶p̶)̶,̶_

_I have to stop thinking about these things..._

_In any case, what I wanted to say was that, no matter how much I̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ fun I had last night, I had absolutely no reason to smile. Draco Malfoy reeks of hate and hypocrisy. Maybe he didn't have as much fun as I did. Maybe he didn't see that we could easily be friends. So no, I don't have a reason to smile..._

Since I had slept very late – or very early, depending on how one looked at it – I woke up when the morning was turning to noon.

Maya was singing in the shower. One thing that I had noticed throughout my years of sharing a room with her was that nothing could ruin her day after she'd spent the previous night with a boy. It was audible in the charming vibratos of her voice that she had a very good night indeed.

I was always wondering how that worked. Why would you be so blissful and cheer after a tiring night? I always guessed that it was one of these things that you have to experience yourself and I was sure that the day that I felt this kind of euphoria would take much longer to arrive than it would for the average person.

"Good morning, Blackthorn!" she sang as walked to her trunk, wrapped in a green towel. She was very happy indeed because she seldom greeted me in the morning.

"Hello..." I said and pressed my palms on my eyelids.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade with the girls. I don't know if I'll see you until later so I have to ask; will you sleep with the Gryffindors today after all?"

The illusion was shattered, as expected. Maya was never too courteous if it didn't benefit her in some way. If she wanted something, she said it without waiting for you to have your first cup of coffee. With a hardly functioning brain, I tried to think of my plan for the night.

"Err... Yes. The room is yours..." I said and turned my back to her, wishing for a few more minutes of snoozing.

"Thank you!" Maya said her thanks and went back to her singing. How happy could one be?

During our walk last night, when the brief thought of my plan to keep my end of the bargain and let Maya have the dorm for herself the following night momentarily crossed my head, I had hoped that the same walk would somehow repeat itself and therefore there wouldn't be much need for a sleepover with the Gryffindors. But then I harked back to how cruelly he had ruled this scenario out.

 _Bold of you to assume there is a chance we will meet again_. His words were clouding my mind and made me squint with embarrassment. _I would never be friends with some proud muggle-lover half-blood. Tonight was an exception._ How had he managed to make me feel so crazy, so delusional, so psychotic? I breathed out heavily and pressed my pillow on top of my head. I had an urge to scream so as to relieve myself of the awkward memory.

Of course, my confidence hit me in the head like most of the times in my life.

I started exploring my option. Maybe Hermione and Ginny would want a girls' night. Or maybe we would all gather for a game night. I tried to get myself excited. I would be hanging out with my friends after all. Why did it all seem so dull after last night's dark colours?

I took my time getting up and dressed. I wanted to wear the same sweater as yesterday; the light brown one. It would be the third day in a row. I felt disgusting for a second and seriously worried that I was letting myself go but then again it was a chunky and soft and warm and honestly the highlight of my day. I noticed that on it there were still pine needles and sharp woodchips from the dry and crackled crust of tree trunk. They must have stuck on my sweater while I was sitting next to Malfoy. The flashback started again.

I remembered how relaxed he was, how we had talked for hours. He even so much as made one or two comments about his own life, something that he seemed to never do. In light of these details, I couldn't consider myself crazy for thinking of him as a friend in the making. Maybe I wasn't the bold and crazy one. Maybe he was the one who was unnecessarily mean, which, in all honesty, suited out characters accordingly.

No. I set the sweater aside. I had to wear a fresh one. My grey one was just as good.

By the time I got to the Great Hall, it was lunchtime. I browsed the room for any sight of Harry, Ron or Neville, sure that Hermione would skip lunch to make sure she had done all her homework before going the planned outing to Hogsmeade that evening. To my surprise, I saw her and Ron already sitting at the far end of the Gryffindor table, so I walked to them and sat beside Hermione.

"Is there no coffee?" I asked drowsily.

"Good morning to you too, Ophelia. Or better say, good afternoon."

"Coffee now, tease later," I groaned.

Hermione put her book down and raised her eyebrows.

"Hello, sleepyhead!" she said. "I don't think they serve any at the moment. They usually only serve it for breakfast. But there is some tea," she said and slid a cup across the table.

I pulled out my wand and tapped the cup four times. An artificial coffee was nowhere near as good as a freshly brewed one but this watery concoction should keep me up until I returned to the common room, where it was always served warm and fresh.

"You are getting good at this," said Ron, biting on a smoked sausage and washing it down with a hefty mouthful of pumpkin juice. If there was something one could easily associate Ronald with, it was his food. If one ever dared touch his plate, he was sure to find himself in a fight. I always suspected this was the effect of growing up with many siblings – something I couldn't relate to. "Will you show me how you do that?"

"You don't even like coffee, Ronald," said Hermione. It was true; coffee was never a wizard's drink. It was only now getting popular with the new generation and thankfully that was enough for the house elves to serve it for breakfast. The proud purebloods were still repulsed by the coffee stand.

"I hear it's rather tasty."

"Ronald is trying to turn into a cool kid this year. He is trying to become – oh, what do they call them in the American films?" Hermione turned to me provocatively. "Oh, right! Jock. He is trying to become a jock!"

"What is a film?" asked Ron. His mouth was half-open and showed unchewed food. No wonder why Hermione made an angry face and showed his mouth with a pointed finger. Ron's habit to chew loudly was a frequent argument of theirs.

Hermione's nerves were on edge nowadays – something that had to do with Ron's most recent flirtation with Lavander Brown.

"Anyway, how come you woke up this late, Ophelia?" she asked.

"I stayed up late."

Two tables south, behind Ron's back, sitting on the Slytherin table, was Draco Malfoy. He was reading my copy of Eudoxus Perrish's _A True Magical Nature_. He had made himself a book stand by stacking three empty plates on top of each other and was sipping some tea. I was wondering if it actually _was_ tea.

"Where is Harry?" I asked.

"I am afraid our friend is getting a bit paranoid nowadays. Oh, there he is!" said Ron and gestured to the Entrance Hall. "I'd like to see how he is going to explain himself, Ophelia!" he said loudly.

Ron wanted to make sure Harry heard him as he was getting near. What was Harry up to, anyway? He gave Ron a sharp look and sat down grumpily.

"I don't have anything to explain," he said and served himself some food.

"What is this all about then?" I exclaimed.

"Our dear friend, Harry Potter, is becoming a stalker," explained Hermione. "He spotted Malfoy in the Marauder's map and then saw him disappear. We figured that maybe he entered the Room of Requirements. So this genius," said Hermione pointing opposite her, "has obviously spent all morning trying to find out what he was doing in there."

"How did you think that was going to work?" I asked.

"I tried asking the Room to show me where he went. I tried everything. 'I'd like to go where he is going' or 'show me where Malfoy goes'. Nothing works," Harry admitted with a face of utter disappointment and exhaustion.

"I told you that the Room of Requirements doesn't work like this, Harry. You were wasting your time when you should be studying!" said Hermione slamming her book shut furiously.

"Why would you be stalking him, Harry?" I asked.

"I am sure he is up to something. I can smell it. I can see it. He has been awfully quiet ever since we came back. He stepped back from his role as a Prefect, he never even went to trials for the Slytherin Quidditch Team, no chants, no tunes, no bullying, nothing!"

"That's all the more reason to leave him alone," I said. "Aren't you happy he is not getting in your way?"

"Oh, come on! You all have to admit there is something fishy about it! When was the last time Malfoy acted decent? And after what we saw at Borgin and Burkes..."

"Harry, for the last time; we didn't see something out of the ordinary," insisted Hermione. "You're being paranoid! I'm starting to think it's a blessing that you have that damned potion book you like to read so much. Otherwise, you would be on top of the Marauder's map day and night!"

My heart lost a pound. I tried to detect any unusual sign in Harry's look but thankfully he didn't look at me oddly at all. Apparently, I was only lucky he hadn't seen me sneaking out of Hogwarts with Malfoy last night. That magical map of his was becoming increasingly threatening and I increasingly nervous.

"I am going to side with Hermione and Ron in this one Harry. You're going to get nowhere by stalking Malfoy on that map all the time. It's just not right."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Maybe it was a good thing that this walk would never repeat itself. Who would want to push their luck when it came to one's best friends? Who would want to test their rage or disappointment, if they found out I was almost dallying with 'the enemy' (a term only used due to the lack of a better word)?

My hesitations didn't rest just with Malfoy's character; they also rested in the essence of my relationship with my friends, for that one was more complicated than it seemed at first glance.

The truth is that I had spent a summer of absence but it wasn't the first sign of the inherent gap that was always present in my friendship with the three of them. We had only become friends at the beginning of our fourth year, we were always in some distance due to the fact that we were sleeping on different sides of the castle. We didn't even get the same classes most of the time. But the distance wasn't only created by practicalities. Through it all, I had always been the Slytherin. Yes, my Gryffindor friends were openminded and willing to accept me without paying much attention to the badge on my robes. I loved them for looking past the colour green.

But some prejudices are hard to fully conquer. I wasn't easily trusted by even the bravest or kindest of souls. It had been a total conundrum to even accept me into Dumbledore's Army; everyone was too afraid I would run to Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad for the extra school credit I always craved. And even though I proved everyone wrong, at the end of the day, the only people that were close enough to Harry in order to help him at the night of the Ministry were Gryffindors.

I had decided to never be bitter about such things. For many years they were the only people that brought me joy in these halls. I wasn't going to be petty enough to care if they didn't drag me into their impossible missions from time to time. But yes, if truth be told, the distance was there. And then, of course, came this dreadful summer. I had taken many steps back from any progress to gain their trust.

It didn't matter if it had to do with the nature of the school system, the inherent and subconscious suspicion every wizard shows towards Slytherins, my own choice to disappear from everything and everyone during the summer or a combination of the three factors. Whatever the truth was, my friendship with Harry, Ron and Hermione – or even Neville – was a fragile one. I couldn't gamble it all like I had this summer. No. Not for something as unimportant as a late-night walk.

"Do _you_ know something, Ophelia? You live in the same common room, after all," he said.

"Well, I don't actually know him, do I?" I said. I was used to lies by now. "But you know, he does seem a bit calmer nowadays."

"Yes, stepping on my nose is a very calm reaction, indeed."

My eyes were drawn back to Malfoy. As expected, he was not looking back.

I had the same opinion as my friends, until that day at the museum. Judging from what I'd witnessed in my five years in Hogwarts, I should have been hateful and kept on avoiding him, much like I did for the past few years. But that day in the museum was the first time I noticed fragments of glass on his face, the ruins of a soul.

If I had paid close enough attention all these years, maybe these fragments could have been detected long ago (I had caught a brief glance of them during our dance at the Yule Ball). Or maybe Draco Malfoy had only just now broken. Whatever the case was, I was sure he was more than he seemed.

And yet how could one be so cruel and so sad at the same time?

"Not that it's an excuse, but his father is in Azkaban. Imagine having a loved one in that place. It must have been pretty rough for him."

"It's not my fault that Lucius Malfoy is a psychopath and a Death Eater," said Harry and pronounced every word pointedly.

I fell in silence, both because I agreed with Harry _and_ because I was sure that everything I would spit out would incriminate me. I reminded myself that I had nothing to be ashamed of, that I had done nothing wrong. I shouldn't feel that cold stab of guilt piercing my chest, because I wasn't guilty of some heinous crime. All I did was go for a walk with a fellow Slytherin, who just happened to be my best friends' nemesis in this school and punched Harry a few weeks back because his father was put behind bars for being a-

_...Okay maybe I am guilty of some minor charges, Margot._

_See you soon,  
_ _Ophelia_

* * *


	20. Extra Sweater

***trigger warning: self-harm***

* * *

D

I stood behind the threadbare tapestry and touched the cold stone behind it.

It was early in the morning. Half of the students hadn't even woken up yet and the rest were heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. This place didn't intervene with any corridor that led to one of the four Houses, so there was no one around me. There was no more perfect time to do this.

I walked inside the Room of Requirements. This time it took the form of a much smaller room. In the middle of the room stood a plain table. I approached it. I took a look at the bottles on top of it. Why couldn't I be more specific with what I asked for? The Room gave me some clear, liquid. I unscrewed one of them. It smelled like alcohol alright, but the odour was tart and piercing. At least Whiskey smelled of something sweet. What was this?

I read the sign on the bottle. _Vodka._

I knew I was maltreating myself even as I was doing it. It was already the end of September and I had used up the entirety of liquor I had stashed in my trunk during the summer. In this palace of purity, where the strongest thing an underage wizard can find is a mild butterbeer in Hogsmeade, I put my faith in whatever this unknown alcoholic drink was.

I took a sip just to test the flavour. I remembered when I was younger, Father and I had to go to the Ministry of Magic to settle some unimportant paper issue that had come up with my muggle birth certificate. Father murmured and cursed the whole way to the Portkey that would take us there. On our way there, somewhere in the centre of London, we passed by an oddly smelling place. I still remembered it as if it were yesterday; the muggles drove their 'cars' as they call them, they parked next to some smelly stalls and connected their vehicles to them with black pumps. I even remembered the sign on that place. It was called BP. I wondered what that stood for but I knew better than to ask Father. Whatever that place was, it reeked of a smell nastier than alcohol.

Well, that was what Vodka smelled like. It smelled like the weird 'car' place in London.

In any case, I took another sip. I contemplated leaving the room and ask for my regular, but it seemed that the taste was getting milder the more you got used to it. Then again, I did ask for the strongest thing I could bear, so I simply trusted the Room's judgement and opened my backpack. I loaded the bottles and made my way out of the Room of Requirement.

I almost sprang my way to the west wing. I couldn't be caught carrying these things. I might have gotten used to feeling guilty about some things in life but carrying alcohol intended for daily wasn't one of them.

"Morning, mate! Where did you go this early?"

Blaise was still in his pyjamas but was very much awake. He was freshly back from Maya's dorm and now I would see him shaving through the open bathroom door. However happy I was that I got the room for myself from time to time, I sometimes wished I could punch that lovesick look off his face. During the past couple of weeks, I had to watch everyone in our year fall in love and snog in between classes. The hormones that the school suddenly radiated were unbearable. Somehow, things had been thrown back to the carefree days of our fourth year, when everyone only really cared about who they were going to bring as a date to the Yule Ball. Was the world not witnessing what I did? Of course, they weren't watching the world getting darker to the extent that I did, nor did they have to push every distraction around them away like had, but how could they be dallying in the corridors while there was a war going on?

I felt disgusted by the lot of them; everyone that was suddenly falling in love. They were still children.

"Back already?" I said, not even caring to answer Blaise's question. Although he was a person who could deeply care for his friends (sometimes I think he loved his friends as much as he did his family), I knew he could easily get distracted when you asked him a question about himself. Especially now that he was in love, he could forget your existence and just blab about his Maya for hours on end. Very unnerving, if one asked me, but perfect if you wanted to avoid certain questions.

"Yes, I had to come back earlier this time because Blackthorn was already back from the Gryffindors by 5," he said.

Just like that, rapidly, easily, sharply, I was fuming and raging.

Throughout the past couple of weeks, Ophelia and I had been taking turns in allowing the lovebirds to sleep in the same dorm. Of course, _I_ had been sleeping on the Slytherin Common Room couch. _She_ was sleeping with her Gryffindor friends. Note that whenever Blaise referred to her, he said she had stayed with her _Gryffindor friends_ or simply with _the Gryffindors._ No specification was ever made. Judging from her friends, I could safely assume that there was only 1 out of 4 chances that she was sleeping in Granger's dorm. That still left me with a hefty 75% chance that she was sleeping with either Longbottom, Weaselbee, or worse of all, Potter! I couldn't believe I was now loudly thinking this: I'd rather believe in the lie that Ophelia slept in the same room as a filthy mudblood, than imagine her sleeping near Potter! All of them were creeps. It wouldn't surprise me if they were taking advantage of the fact that she didn't have anywhere else to sleep. It wouldn't be the first time that they were taking advantage of a situation.

None of this would have happened, if I hadn't told her that I would never speak to her again. I could have taken her for a walk every night – each and every single night – if it meant that no other man wouldn't so much as lay a finger on her. I could put up with spending time with a half-blood if that meant she was safe. I cursed and swore in my mind. All of this was happening because a petty cell in me had decided to jump up.

Again, it was obvious that there always was a winning side and a losing side. I was always in the latter, and Potter and his friends were always the ones who seemed to have whatever they wanted in life. I was killing myself every day in order to do something I was terrified of; and there _he_ was, sleeping next to a wonderful girl that he didn't deserve. Because, indeed, he didn't deserve anything he had; from the extra points nepotism got him, to the fame he was so drowned in. He didn't deserve the time he was spending with her because they were friends. He didn't deserve to be looking at her every other night before he went to sleep.

I realized I was being clumsy in my way of storing the bottles of alcohol in my trunk. The bottles bumped against each other and the glass clinked loudly.

"Are you alright, mate?"

"Don't you think you're taking this too far with Maya? I mean, how long is this going to happen for? You're literally making me sleep on the couch every other night so that you can fuck her. It's pretty selfish what you're doing," I snapped.

Blaise stepped out of the bathroom with a half-shaven jaw and the razor on hand.

"Err... To be fair, it's not every other night. It's more like two times a week. And I thought you were fine with it," he said after a long pause.

Of course, I was fine with it. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but those nights gave me the chance to sneak out of the Slytherin Common Room with no questions asked and work on the Vanishing Cabinet for as long as I wanted without Blaise noticing a thing. And then when it was Ophelia's turn to lend the room to Blaise and Maya, I had the whole room to myself. Yes, I was worried about what she was doing in these sleepovers in Gryffindor Tower but at least I could drink and forget about it. And the turns went on and on in a vicious circle. Our system was a blessing _and_ a curse for all parties.

"Yeah and that also means that a Slytherin is sleeping outside of the Common Room twice a week. Imagine what would happen if Filch found the Blackthorn girl. We would lose points!" I said.

Blaise smiled widely. He leaned against the door arrogantly.

"You're being so obvious right now!" he sniggered.

"Shut up! I don't even know what that means – you know what? I'm going to take her turn next time," I snapped.

"What? You just complained that you have to give up your bed."

"I said what I said!" I shouted.

"You're being ridiculous right now," Blaise returned to his shaving without giving much attention to my outburst. Maybe he didn't believe I meant it.

"I just happen to have common decency."

It was a phrase neither of us would have expected to hear from me.

"Just tell her I am going to take her turns as well from now on," I added.

Blaise looked confused but he didn't speak after that.

Not that I cared much, but at least now she would be sleeping in her bed every night, as usual. No sleepovers, no men, no mudbloods. Just her and her notebook.

* * *

I spent some hours in the library, trying to complete a late essay for Snape. I was glad to be receiving his favouritism during these dark hours but knew that it could never supplement the shameless pressure he was attempting every day. He was watching me like a hawk, interrogating me whenever I skipped a class when I was going through a tough hangover and following me with his eyes whenever we were in the same room.

I walked into his office. The only source of light in this dungeon was coming from his desk lamp, with the candlelight in it flickering and reflecting on the green or blue or brown jars around him, each hiding another disgusting looking ingredient in formol. Snape didn't raise his eyes to see me this time and I was glad for it. Maybe he had passed me for some Ravenclaw and would casually ignore my presence. I quietly left the essay on the desk and turned around to leave, careful not to make any sudden movement that would distract him from his writing.

"Late again," he said stiffly.

"I was busy."

"Yes, it must be very time-consuming trying to be hiding that you are wandering the halls completely drunk, with one foot already set in alcoholism."

"How-"

"Your parents were not very pleased to know that you're neglecting your duties. Neither was the Dark Lord," he continued and went back to his writing when met with my silence.

"I already found the Vanishing Cabinet. I am already passing objects back and forth. It's a matter of weeks before I fully mend it," I said after a long pause to think.

"Who said that fixing that Cabinet is what earns you a gold star? He is more interested in the task itself. The Cabinet will be fixed sooner or later. But you don't even have a plan. You don't even seem to be interested."

"I-"

"In any case, he is getting impatient. He has some orders he would like you to follow, since you are so incapable of performing the task without any help."

"Orders?"

"You thought that he was going to let you take your time with it? Trust me on this one, you should follow his orders precisely. You don't want to infuriate him even further. And since you so masterfully managed the impossible task of slightly fixing a Vanishing Cabinet," he said, his voice drenched in sarcasm, "he expects you to wait for an object tomorrow at 8 o'clock in the afternoon. And don't be late."

I made to go, unwilling to think of a smart comeback. The situation was escalating to where I hadn't expected it to, or at least wished it wouldn't get to. I had nibbled on my time and now I was running out of it. My days were mostly filled with way to process the situation, laying around and wondering if I could find a way to fulfil this task in a way that could help me survive this.

I laid my hand on the handle, ready to disappear to another night of smoke and liquor when Snape spoke again.

"Your mother is glad your late-night wanderings near the Black Lake was a one-time incidence."

Snape gave me a sharp look.

I froze in my tracks and somehow managed to keep my breath under control. I looked at him over my shoulder.

"Stay out of my business."

* * *

I peeled the wrappings from the box and felt the soft velvet on my fingers. The case felt like the ones Mother used for her jewellery. She had a whole closet full of them, one of every birthday and anniversary since she got married and then another one for all the old family jewels. Mother was lucky. She had inherited every jewel two of the richest families of our world had to offer. I was once told that we only kept the less worthy jewels in the house. Everything that was actually valuable was hidden away.

I opened the black case. When I saw the necklace, I could hardly think of a way to connect the dots. How could this be an order? How was this a part of my task?

And then, an envelope. _The_ envelope.

_Curse. Imperio. Send. Kill. Burn letter._

I laid the letter on a nearby table and waved my wand before it. Fire erupted from its point and the letter disappeared in seconds. I closed the case and wrapped it again in its previous state.

It scared me how easily I was able to pick the package up and simply storm out of the Room of Requirement. In my mind, when people planned on doing mischievous acts, they surely must have felt some kind of guilt inside them.

At that moment, I was at peace. I was slightly relieved. If something good had come out of the Dark Lord's impatience and my irresponsibility, while I drank myself to sleep every night, was that now I had nothing to worry about. Now I was a pawn, a ragdoll.

I had no mind; I was no soul. My goal was met. I was only following orders. It made things plainer, uncomplicated. I didn't have to have feelings. I could just act.

I returned to my dorm, stored the necklace deep beneath my clothes and denied to think of the details for now. The note was more or less comprehensible and made the task seem easy, but the more I thought of what my first action should be, the more minor steps arose. I would leave this for another time. For now, reading.

I picked up my borrowed book, that hated borrowed book, and made my way to the Common Room.

It was mostly empty that time of day. Most of the Slytherins had gone upstairs for dinner by now. In the middle of the sitting room, Blaise was feverishly talking with Maya. Later, approximately ten minutes after making up with a passionate kiss, he would explain the intriguing details of this first fight. It had something to do with Polyxeny finding out about their secret relationship. Apparently, she was furious and was ready to take Maya down. In any case, at the moment, I was too busy settling in my designated spot on the couch. I was still wearing my suit, which made it impossible to sit however I wanted; then again, people were looking, and could never allow myself to be seen sitting clumsily.

In her usual corner, Ophelia was studying. She was wearing the wires in her ears and the music device was proudly laid on the desk, next to her Ancient Runes' book. I wanted to smash that muggle box. How could she bring it in this castle? However much I despised Hogwarts altogether, it was still a place of magic and that should be respected, not defiled with muggle objects such as these.

I breathed out heavily and started reading.

_...Consider now, the first appearances of the Imperious Curse. Although the year of its creation is not known to date, it is estimated that it was created during the reign for Antonius Pius (138-161 A.D.), whose nephew, Marcus Galerius is considered one of the first users of the curse. When interrogated by the Wise Elders on the subject of the murder of his father, he claimed that the responsibility laid on the person who offered him the poisoned chalice. The Elders were soon to proclaim him the moral author and abettor of the murder and would soon expulse him. The previously unknown curse was made known to the wizarding world as the third to knowledge Unforgivable Curse, in a groundbreaking, revolutionary and admirable verdict that did not reflect the violence of its times. In the words of the High Elder, Zenepherius the Wise:_

_"The Imperious Curse does not lift the responsibility of the crime from the wizard who conjures it."..._

I rolled my eyes and ran my eyes through the next pages. I was bored whenever the author was bombarding the reader with historical facts only to come to a semi-important conclusion. Who wanted another lecture on the Unforgivable Curses?

_...for the Imperious Curse and its uses. Although his plan was originally designed and documented plan was limiting its use to witches only, and aiming to the subduction of the mind during the years the subject was useful for procreation and enhancement of the purity in the blood of the offspring, Zallem moved on to a wider use of the curse..._

I shuddered. I was half sure that Zallem was all but a myth. He was hardly ever mentioned anymore. The Voldemort before Voldemort, the Grindelwald before Grindelwald, the legend that resided in the depths of our history, in the outlaw sects and cults of eastern Europe during the Middle Ages. Even Father despised him. As for myself, I always blamed the muggles for this dark part of our history. If the muggles did not expulse the wizards and force them to live as outlaw hermits, they would have never resulted in forming such abominable sects and committing such heinous crimes in the first place.

_...Zallem often applied the curse on muggle women from the nearby villages to satisfy needs that did not comply with his ideas on the maintenance of the blood. It soon became known that the Curse became another mean to sexually harass both witches and muggle women..._

There was suddenly a stone sitting in my throat, a stone that could not be swallowed or coughed up. I always considered the Imperious Curse to be the most harmless of the Unforgivable Curses. Just like Eudoxus Perrish had mentioned, the responsibility lay with the person who performed the curse, not the crime itself. Yes, it was cruel, but it was theoretically the most forgiving to the victim at the end of the pointed wand. I had never thought that I would think twice over it.

_...the women, both witches and muggles, could fully recollect the act..._

I stopped there and closed my eyes. The thoughts started.

Some people still don't know what the Mark means. They don't know what our real crimes were. They were hidden. Even now, years later, when all the wars are over, they are still hidden. And I thought I knew it all too; until I learned their true crimes. Grandma told me stories of the First Wizarding War. I remembered how she described the raid nights. She said grandpa, her son, would come home with my father after these pogroms, covered in blood, head to toe.

Who knew... Who knew if they did more than just slaughter? Who knew how many mudblood women these men had raped?

Well, no, not my father. Grandma herself denied it. I didn't believe something like this about him.

No, not my father. He was an honest man. He wasn't insane. He wasn't a monster. He had a soul.

No, not my father, he loved my mother and he would never do this to anyone.

But who knew what his fellow Death Eaters did? Who knew what means they used for their wicked acts? I wondered if they used the Imperious Curse on them as well. I wondered if they wanted to hear them scream. Or did they just want them to be silent? Did they want the women to resist or did they want them to be passive?

Every mudblood and muggle was as good as nothing but _that_ was less than nothing. No one deserved _that_.

I looked down. I was shaking. Was I shaking before?

I was breathing shortly but heavily and yet no oxygen was entering my lungs. Instead, I felt black smoke around me – not the kind I enjoyed inhaling. The atmosphere was somehow getting thick and terrifying.

I was falling down a hole; a black, deep hole.

My chest and neck were on fire.

I looked down again. I watched my palms moving back and forth and that juddering was so frantic that I ended up catching only one consecutive motion.

My vision was blurred. Blacks spots were gathering.

I couldn't handle the pressure on my chest and yet I couldn't let myself scream right there and then, in the middle of a busy sitting room. I had to set my feet free of the weight and start moving.

I stood. I put one hand in my pocket to hide the shaking and with the other I pressed the book near my chest, hoping to soothe my racing heart. I was now walking towards the dorms. A few feet away, Ophelia was writing in her notebook. She never raised her eyes to look at me as I was passing by; and why would she? It had been two weeks ever since our eyes had last met. Once more, I was glad for this turn of events. She wouldn't notice that I was almost running upstairs.

I shut the door loudly behind me and walked straight into the bathroom. I didn't know why I did this. I could cry just as much as on my bed. I locked the door behind me.

I thought that I would calm down once I was alone and safe. I looked down at my hands.

They were shaking again.

I pressed my palms together and took out all the pressure I could apply. I thought I'd feel some kind of pain on my skin but my hands were already numb. When I untangled my hands, the blood was drained from them, leaving white traces where my fingers had been pressed.

I took my sweater and shirt off. Maybe that could help. The cold was always distracting.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

My torso was white, the colour of Ophelia's shirts. Oh, why did I think of that? My torso was white, the colour of paper.

I used to have a very well built body. I used to have muscles that promptly stuck out and showed underneath every piece of clothing. But I wasn't in the Quidditch team anymore and every sign that I was once an athlete was slowly leaving me. I was skipping meals. I was getting thin. I was getting sick.

And then there were the ruined arms. I was proud of both of them. I wore both like badges.

One had the signs of troubled nights. The scars were scattered on my forearm. All of them were fresh. They were inflamed. Sometimes if I stretched my hand too quickly, the wounds reopened and stained my shirt. The other arm was not in pain tonight. It wasn't moving. The skull was staring at me. The black ink had been poured deep under the skin.

I was proud of this mark the moment it was created. I was proud that I had the same tattoo as my father. To me, it was something I always knew I would get. I was fine with the sight from the moment it was put on me. Yes, it hurt, yes, I was terrified, but I was never ashamed. I knew what the Mark stood for. It stood for purity, for loyalty; and I was both.

I knew what ideals it stood for. I didn't know what _acts_ it stood for, or at least I always chose to ignore the acts.

"Draco!" I heard Blaise's voice calling and a knock on the door. "I'm going to dinner. You should come too."

"I..." I paused and squinted. I let the water run to make my excuse seem believable. "I am taking a shower."

"Okay... See you later?"

This time I wasn't so sure I would see him later.

"Yes."

Blaise walked away.

It made sense that it hurt so much when you got the Mark. Something that stood for killing, torturing and controlling _should_ hurt at least a little bit.

I let myself slide down and felt the ridges of the ice-cold bathroom tiles on my back. I let myself sit there. It was soothing to hear the water running but it was turning the bathroom cold. Somehow, this made me want to cry. It was the cold – the cold made me want to cry. But I couldn't turn it off, I didn't want to. I wanted to listen to it splash on the white floor.

I fell on my side, still looking at the Mark.

Why didn't it hurt right now? It _should_ hurt. It was the proud Mark of criminals. It was the proud Mark of pain. It was the proud mark of a green flash. It was the proud Mark of subdued women, doing the bidding of a rapist.

So, fuck it. I was going to make it hurt.

I sat in the tub and let my feet go numb. They soon felt like ice, like fresh ice on the first truly cold day of a harsh winter. Now, I took my hand and let it sit under the water. It turned into ice as well, but I wasn't feeling much pain.

I sliced it open. I drew many proud lines. One followed the body of the snake. One was painting the skull red. One was parting the tail in two.

"Draco."

Blaise's voice had returned. Had he never left for dinner? For how long had I need in here?

"Dude, you're still in taking a shower? It's been a bloody hour."

"Yes." My voice was blocked. It had some wet sound of tears in it.

"What?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm in the fucking shower. Leave me the fuck alone."

"Mate, are you okay?" he asked after a long pause.

"For fuck sake, let me take a shower!" My voice had gone back to normal again.

"Okay!" he was hiding a snigger. He might have thought I was jerking off – who knows?

I looked down again, now bothered. It wasn't a good moment to continue.

I stared. The wounds weren't even that deep.

It wasn't just the Mark of a criminal. It was the Mark of a coward. It was all I was.

I stood, crippled by the cold. My trousers were soaking wet; I struggled to take them off. I dried myself held a fresh towel around my left forearm. I opened the cupboard next to me and found some clean bandage. I wrapped the left hand tightly. To be honest, if it weren't for the streaks on the linen, one would struggle to find where the bandages ended and where my skin resumed. _That_ was the metaphor I was looking for before. My skin was white like fresh bandages.

I cleaned the blood-stained towel with a simple spell. I walked outside and put some fresh clothes on. Blaise seemed to have disappeared from the dorm. I assumed he was somewhere with Maya. It was my official turn again (not that turns mattered since I had offered the room to the couple whenever they needed it) and I had to get myself ready for a night in the cough. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. It was already past 11 o'clock. I was in the bathroom for two and a half hours.

On the bed, there still lay the book that had started it all. That book, that bloody book, that had decided to offer me images someone like me could never forget. That book, the source of my panic, the beginning of the end.

Fuck it.

I grabbed the book and stormed out of the dorm. The sitting room was thankfully empty by now but I saw what I expected. Ophelia was sitting in her usual corner. She had finished studying. She was listening to music and writing to her damned notebook. She noticed me approaching and I must have had a hateful look on my face because she frowned.

I walked up to her, slammed the book in front of her and looked at her. I had to force the hate in my eyes. She had a gift in making me mild with her. It was not going to work from now on.

She seemed startled but I had decided that I wouldn't stay long to study her expression. I turned around and left.

"People say thank you, you know!" she called from afar.

"Oh, sod off!" I bellowed as I was going up the stairs.

I was lucky that Blaise and Maya hadn't returned to the dorm yet, so I had the time to drink a few sips from my flask, collect my cigarettes, a pillow and a blanket. As I was emptying the contents of the flask, I realized I had regretted. I really wanted to finish that book.

I looked around. I tried to count the mistakes I had made in the last 24 hours alone.

So, fuck it. I was going to make one more now.

Even as I was fetching those few things that I would need for my night on the stiff sofa, I didn't truly believe that I would use them.

Yes, of course, I got an extra sweater and a second blanket. I wasn't an idiot; it was obvious how the night was going to fold out and it was getting colder and colder these days. I didn't want her to catch a bloody cold.

* * *


	21. Poetry Guy

O

_September 27th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_Things are moving slowly here in Hogwarts, and the rush with which the year started has already faded out. I am silently watching the world moving around me while I lay still._

_Okay, let's find some news to write... I got an Outstanding on a pop quiz in Potions today. Slughorn seems to like me, although it's difficult to like a student when Harry is in the same class. He is acing Potions nowadays. In any case, Slughorn usually arranges gatherings and parties in which only some selected students can attend to. He said he would' gladly see Phineas' daughter in his next Slug Party'. I am not entirely thrilled by the idea. I would rather make someone admire me for my own skills. Now all he sees is my father._

_Today I also went to the Forbidden Forest. I had missed Buckbeak. My heart always aches when I see him in chains. Whenever dusk approaches and everyone is eating dinner, I like freeing him for a few minutes and letting him fly me over the grounds. But this time it was only noon and I had to be back before my free period ended. Maybe tomorrow will be the day he flies again._

_What else..._

_Well, for a lack of anything more interesting to say, it seems that every last, insignificant hope – friendly hope, I must add (otherwise, I will soon forget!) – I might have had with Malfoy, died out in the span of a couple of weeks. He never made an attempt to get in some kind of touch with me again after that walk, he never looks in my general direction and seems to have forgotten that he borrowed my book. I keep reminding myself that I wished for such a turn of events..._

I hadn't finished the sentence when Malfoy slammed my book on the table before me. He looked pale even for himself and his eyes were swollen and bloodshot red. It might have been insomnia; it might have been tears. Before I could respond properly he had walked away.

 _Good_ , I thought, _at least I got my book back and now we can put things to rest_.

I sat stubbornly in my frozen state, grumpy and unable to find a way to my previous train of thought. Eventually, I opened the book but only because I didn't have anything better to do with my hands. I flipped a couple of pages and stumbled upon chapter 35, on some right page.

I caught the glimpse of the left page; page 236. Chapter 34 had ended with two paragraphs that only took one third of the page. Below the end of the chapter, on the free space with the yellowish tint and on a scribbled handwriting that certainly wasn't mine, there sat a poem. _  
_

_I asked the moon for some advice but before she could answer, she was lost in her circle_

_I waited two days and two nights till she appeared again, narrow and thin, up in the sky_

_I asked the moon for some advice and she said I have to do the right thing_

_Only life is a chaos and before I found that right, the moon was gone again, lost in her circle._

The poem tasted of black coal and honey. It was sour and dry and acid and when swallowed you thought you could die. I almost teared up.

I watched him return with his pillow and his blanket. The swell hadn't left from his eyes; he was tired indeed. But this time there was colour in his cheeks. He had drunk something; that much as obvious. As he laid down to try to sleep, he gave silent glimpses to my corner. Why had he brought that second sweater and blanket with him? He couldn't be that cold, sleeping next to the fireplace.

Everyone had disappeared by then. Who could prove that I was looking at him? Who could prove that my heart ached whenever he appeared?

I am persuaded that half of the things I say or do in the presence of this man are driven by an unseen force that is willing to fully corrupt me.

I had been startled enough to not follow him after his jerky outburst a few minutes ago. But now I was sure. I got up, collected my book and cassette player and approached him.

"So did you like it?" I asked, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

"Did someone even talk to me?"

"Yeah, asshole. I did. Sue me."

"Are you obsessed with me or something?"

"Yes. I am obsessed with you. And every single planet revolves around you," I said and gave him the smirk he deserved. "Now. Did you like it?"

"In case it wasn't obvious when I threw it on you like the garbage it is, no," he answered bluntly.

"Why?" I demanded.

"Because it was muggle propaganda. It should be banned."

I looked at him with a narrow look, not really knowing how to start discussing this issue. Draco – yes, I called him Draco in my mind – locked his eye contact to mine stubbornly.

 _And now, add a little bit of boldness_.

I snatched the blanket off of him violently.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he shot up and tried to pull the blanket from my hands.

He could have taken it if he wanted. He was strong enough and if truth be told, he still had the masculine arms of an athlete that could easily knock me down with a push. But instead, he lingered close to me, only slightly tugging the wool between us. Since I was standing with my back to the couch, he intimidated me by limiting me between him and the arm of the sofa. Suddenly, that blanket was the only thing between us. How did it happen that every time we talked, we were inches away from each other? Unlucky for him, this time I wasn't going to be mesmerized by this blissful intimacy.

"We are going on a walk again," I announced.

"Says who."

"Says I."

A moment's stare.

"Fine."

_Well, that was easy..._

"Fine," I confirmed.

"Fine!" he insisted obstinately and by that point, I was holding myself not to laugh.

He is so obvious with some things, yet he keeps his enigmas. Even when his actions say one thing, the wrappings seem harsh and aggressive.

I think he just needs a friend.

He wore the sweater that he had brought with him, then inspected me from head to toe and said;

"You're going to be cold."

"Good thing that you so fortunately happen to carry a second sweater," I said with a scornful smile.

He turned red from the tips of his ears to his neck and looked down guiltily.

"I brought this one for me, you lunatic!" he said. "Anyway, if you _really_ want it, you can have it. But know that the moment I'm cold, you're going to give it back to me," he added, because, God forbid, that he should say something well-intended without coating it with sour medicine.

"Have you ever been told that you're the rudest gentleman there ever existed?"

And so, if I thought that he couldn't have gotten redder after my last boldness, I was debunked. Additionally, he was crooking his jaw in a stiff expression. He looks tempting when he shows off the savage bone structure of his jawline.

The black sweater was big enough for me to be lost in it. Draco kept trying to hide a snigger. He liked it on me.

When he wasn't looking, I may or may not have brought the sleeve to my nose. God, it smelled of one of those perfumes that you know for a fact are expensive. The luxury is there in the form of depth and silent tones. It was none of those cheap imitations that people tried to pass for posh. Or was it the smell of smoke and warm skin that was toning everything down? Was it just the knowledge that it was _his_ perfume the reason it smelled so superior?

We walked through the usual passageway from the kitchens, stole some fresh biscuits since the kitchen elves were all asleep, and strolled through the wet grass.

There was now a full moon in the sky and its colour seemed blue in the dark and still of the night. The ground got wild and irregular under our feet near the Forest. There was mist. As we approached our place – yes, because it is slowly becoming _our_ place – near the banks of the Black Lake, I frequently stumbled. I wasn't so well versed with this path; I had only come here once.

But this time, Draco offered me his hand and instructed me to the right places to step.

"Are you completely blind? It was obvious that was a loose rock! Merlin, you're hopeless," he shouted. He was still taut but at least this time he thought to lend a hand.

He held me close to him, put two hands around my waist to help me jump from the high rock onto the grass of the meadow and dawdled for a second after I had found my balance again. It reminded me of the _pas de deux_ we used to rehearse in ballet. Dancers always look each other in the eyes after a lift.

I am not made of stone; I felt some fluttering inside my stomach – or was it in my heart?

We ran to the elm tree and spread the blanket on the damp earth. I wrapped myself in the second blanket and Draco laid his back against the tree trunk as he did last time. As always, he placed a cigarette on his lips and lit it with his long wand.

"You know, I want to actually try one tonight," I said bravely.

"No, you don't," said Draco in an assuring tone. Although I was always at peace with the idea of someday trying a cigarette, I knew he was right. For some inexplicable reason, this wasn't the right night. I had already admitted that inside my head. But now, I wanted to be stubborn.

"Just to try it. I'm not going to start smoking. I hate the smell," I said.

"Why would you do it then?" he asked.

"I am a firm believer that you have to try everything once before you die," I said.

I don't know what Draco liked about this statement but for some reason, he laughed quietly and curved his lips downwards, in an expression that showed how dumbstruck he was.

"I knew a girl who needed a personal provocation to take a sip of alcohol. We were right here on this spot. What happened to her?" he finally said.

"See? First you corrupt me and then you don't give me a draw from your cig. I knew you were mean but that's plain two-faced. Come on, then..." I spread out my hand. "I know how to control myself."

"That's exactly what I said as well." Something in his eyes showed disbelief.

I wondered if he could read me like I could.

At that moment, I realized that the whole conversation had been whispered. It had been almost inaudible yet clear as day and somehow I knew that if we hadn't been looking at each other's lips, nothing would have been understood by either of us.

"Don't insist. It's not going to happen," he said and shook his head.

" _You're_ doing it. Why are you being a hypocrite again?"

"Because I would never allow you to do something harmful to yourself," he said.

He made such long a pause that I could have easily insisted there, but somehow, it was obvious that he was going to add something. His longing was hovering in the air.

"You're not going to smoke. Not on my watch," he finally said and pressed the burned butt against the sole of his black, leather shoes.

It was exactly what I expected and almost what I wanted. It was _exactly_ what I wanted.

He wasn't afraid to stare this time. He let his head rest on the wood behind him and now I felt like he was looking down at me. He knew I had fully surrendered when I bit my lip.

I was starting to understand Draco. He seemed comfortable with double standards. It was just as easy for him to inflict himself in practices that he would never allow on others.

"When did _you_ start?" I said, ready to put my request to side.

"During a very difficult time," he said, licking his lower lip to release his awkwardness in some minor movement.

"I would argue there were better ways to cope. Better things to try."

I was aware that what I was saying was a prickling thorn. I knew with extreme certainty that smoking wasn't the only coping mechanism Draco had adopted. If my theory is right, the man is drinking his way through the days. He doesn't seem to be drinking large portions – at least not every day – but I am sure he is punishing himself, for some unknown reason, with something more than one cigarette at the time. If I didn't know all this just by smelling his breath, I knew it now, by looking at his face. His expression was an artificial one.

"And what would be a better way?" he finally said in a cruel face.

"Well, you resulted in smoking cigarettes, a primarily muggle habit, but you recently denied listening to music through headphones, an equally muggle way of escaping this world. Very hypocritical indeed," I said.

Draco stiffened his jaw promptly again, then looked down at my hands. I was holding the cassette player. He slowly moved his hands to mine and with mild moves, he took the cassette player and unfolded the earphones. His touches were soft, as if picking the leaves off of a flower. I noticed he wasn't moving his left arm much, and from time to time, he would press his right hand on the inside of his forearm. I couldn't give this detail any more attention. Draco was struggling with the earphones.

"How the fuck-" he said, clumsily holding up the earbuds, clueless.

"Here, I'll help you," I said, closed up and put them on for him. I observed some blond hair near his neck rise as I touched him ever so slightly.

Before soon, he offered me the right earphone, so I dragged myself where the earphone could comfortably reach me. Now we were sitting face to face, in a few inches' distance. The breeze was now blended with some warm strokes. It was his breath again, his smoke and bourbon breath, the breath I had to smell in order to realise I missed.

"Let's start with something classic," I said and hit play. Thankfully, I had just the right tape for this.

And so we sat silently and listened to _Wicked Game_ by Chris Isaak.

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you..._   
_It's strange what desire makes foolish people do..._

The music stopped. I looked up to see his reaction. He had closed his eyes.

"Well, shit."

It was as emotional as I had ever seen him.

There was no need of glistening eyes or tears.

It was just Dray with his eyes closed.

"Again?" I suggested.

He nodded at once. And so I rewound the tape and we heard the song again.

_No, I don't want to fall in love (this world is only going to break your heart)_   
_No, I don't want to fall in love (this world is only going to break your heart)_   
_With you_

Our eyes interlocked. Call me crazy; I don't care. But we were both thinking the same thing.

"Shit, now I wanna learn how to play that," he muttered by the end of the second listening.

"You know how to play the guitar?" I asked impressed.

"No, I play the piano. I know it sounds like a song strictly made for a guitar but I was just wondering," he said thoughtfully.

"You don't look like a piano guy to me. You look like a guitar guy."

"Funny you should say that. I always wanted to learn how to play it. But Father never believed in its 'prestige', so he forced me into piano lessons ever since I was four. I grew to love it, obviously. Sometimes I think that it's my only redeeming quality in life. But I was always wondering if it would suit me to have a guitar."

I watched him give the sky a faint smile. Draco was somehow pleased. How beautiful it is to hear him talk about himself... How quickly it tears my heartstrings to see him relaxed...

"It's not that hard. If you learned how to play the piano, the guitar will come naturally to you," I said.

"You know how to play?"

"Well, I'm self-taught, so I only know the basics," I said.

"Can you teach me?"

Compared to last time, when he had so provocatively proclaimed that we would never – ever – meet again, he was now asking for something that demanded time and devotion. I knew I wasn't the subject of his interest but guitar lessons were as close to a friendship as our faces were right now.

"I don't know; what am I going to gain from this?"

"We'll think of something," he said but then distanced himself from me by resting on the tree again.

Another cigarette, another pause.

"So, now I know that you used to be a ballet dancer _and_ that you play the guitar. For some reason, I couldn't imagine either of them – especially ballet," he said.

"How so?"

"I can't put my finger on it. I guess you look too... dark. I'd expect you to be a bit more girly," he explained, and it would be a lie if I said I didn't revel in that description. I never minded being thought of as mysterious. I liked secrecy. Secrecy hides the flaws.

"Well, then you learned a valid lesson about tropes today; they don't exist in real life."

"So. Philosophy, music, ballet, museums... Do you have any other semi-dying hobbies that I don't know about?"

I like the way he admittedly counts things in his very logical brain. I like the manner in which he organizes his mind. I like how many details he can sometimes notice but never reveal.

"Not really... You pretty much summed my life up in these four words. And to be honest, 98% of it was covered by just bring 'ballet' up."

Suddenly, I wasn't so sure about what I just decided to spit out. I felt the embarrassment that always came back to me in the rare cases that the beast of oversharing took over me. Had I said too much?

"What do you mean?"

But then, I knew that if I was ever going to open a new friendship with someone, ballet would eventually come up. No one could be my friend without knowing my story – a story that I used to cheerily explain to the new people in my life when I was sure they were worth it. With Hermione, it happened over a cup of tea after an epic studying session. With Ron, it happened after the first time my family and I celebrated Christmas in Grimmauld Place. With Neville, it happened back in our third year on our way back from gathering herbs in the woods.

But all that happened what seemed like an age and a half ago, and in the present, I wasn't equally cheerful while looking back at the glories of the past.

"I... I guess it was the biggest... thing in my life." I planted the words carefully, calculated each meaning. I didn't want to lie. I wanted to reveal a crippled truth.

"You have to elaborate now." Draco had a confused look. Ballet classes were never too complicated in other people's minds. They just learned that it once was my hobby and life went on. But Draco was careful. He was intuitive. He was there.

"It's a long story," I said, looking down at my hands, playing with the silver ring on my pinkie.

"You disappoint me. That's too cliché of you to say. You know we have time," he said. I think he must have noticed my awkwardness; an awkwardness that could take the toughest person I know and turn him lenient and cautious. "Come on," he added. "What story are you hiding?"

It was more or less obvious in his blue gaze; he read me like a book as well. Maybe not as easily, but he did notice me, he did feel my emotions.

I took a breath. _Start from the beginning. Say as much as you feel comfortable saying. Don't pressure yourself. You know how to hide if you have to._

"Okay, so," I stated, "my mother is a very creative person. She had an outstanding education. We are talking about piano, French, ballet... the whole package. And she wanted to give me the same. I think she wanted to pass the art gene down to me. She never forced me to do anything, but she signed me up for ballet to test the waters; see if it suited me. She wanted something classy and elegant for me too.

"And honestly, in the beginning, I hated it. Ballet classes for three-year-olds are not very advanced. We basically skipped and hopped all the time. It was not interesting to me. I asked Mum to not send me there anymore.

"But instead she booked us tickets to the Royal Opera House. Imagine that; she dragged my three-year-old ass to watch the ballet. It was Swan Lake. How cliché... And when I saw the pas _de deux_ and then the _Black Swan's coda_ and then the 32 fouettés and then watched the White Swan dying... I was in love."

It was sweet to remember it all. It was refreshing to explain it to someone. I was melting in my own memories, in the shadows of years past, in the dancing of the fallen ghosts. Somewhere, lost in the story, was a faint smile that only came from truly happy memories.

"Afterwards, I said, 'Mum, I want to do this one day'. The next day she signed me up for the advanced classes. She forced the teachers to take me on even though I was just three but in a year I was the best dancer in a class with girls that were twice my age. That's also where I met my best friend."

I paused there. It was the only time I needed to catch my breath, maybe swallow on my dry throat. But Draco didn't speak. He didn't interrupt. He looked at me with curiosity and concentrated on my face. I wonder what he might have been thinking? Was he wondering why I was being secretive about this?

"And I lived and breathed to dance. Ballet was my life for 8 years. Basically all my life. I woke up at 4.30 so I could go to practice before school and then danced for another three to four hours after that; I worked myself to death. But I never cared. Because it was all I knew; it was all I ever wanted. Everyone said I was a wonder kid. At ten, I was accepted in the Royal Ballet School – because you know, the companies scout for dancers when they are still really young.

"And the best thing was that my best friend was accepted there, too. So, what else could I have asked for? We were both going to become famous ballerinas and then when we got older we would become teachers and we would dance till our last day. And so by the time I was 11, my life had already been settled. Everything was just perfect.

"And then I got into Hogwarts and... the dream died."

Draco was finding it hard to connect the dots. He narrowed his eyes but his lips didn't separate. He must have realized there was something more to say, something more to reveal.

"God, I had just gotten my first pointe shoes right before I got my Hogwarts letter. I even got casted as the Swan Queen for the school play. And school plays were such a big deal for us. We practised for months on end. Pity."

Draco stared dazed and silent. I was feeling that maybe he was giving this ballet story more importance than it deserved. But then again, it was I who had stepped on my own rules. It was I who had shown more emotion than needed.

"I don't understand. If you were that good, you should have done something about it. You should have continued your classes. It was your dream," he said, suddenly irritated.

"How could I? I would have to be back in London every day, two times a day, six days a week," I explained calmly. Maybe he needed to see that I was over this in order to calm down.

"You could have asked Dumbledore for a permission to use a Floo Powder Fireplaces!"

"You think we didn't? He said that my practices were way too often to allow it. The fireplaces are only used for extreme cases," I explained. Of course, I remembered how I had later learned that Dumbledore had authorized the use of a Time-Turner (a much more dangerous piece of magic) by third-year Hermione Granger so that she could catch all her classes. But it wasn't the time to start fuming over Dumbledore and his nepotism. It had been years since that happened, and I wasn't going to get bitter over this again.

"So it was either ballet or magic? That's such a shitty thing to do!"

Draco frowned heavily, in a way I had only seen used when offended.

"I couldn't _not_ learn how to use magic, could I? You have to understand something. You were born with two feet steady on this world. I wasn't. I was in the middle. And so, I know how few people are actually born with our gift. We are very lucky to have these abilities. I couldn't give it all up for ballet. It was _my_ choice as well."

"That's so unfair, though! He could have made it happen," Draco erupted.

"It's okay. It's been years since then," I said and shrugged.

"But they were giving you no choice!"

I gave him a pained smile. I was fully aware of the injustice of it all. But at the time, I hadn't mourned much over my dream's loss. I was indeed excited about coming here. Every time Dad did a trick, Mum wasn't the only one exited. I remember that I would check the mailbox every day after ballet practice, to check if my letter was there yet. I couldn't decide what I would have missed the most, had I chosen otherwise.

The story died in silence. As it should. Somewhere behind me, a frog jumped into the lake. A summer cricket was singing its last song as the deep Autumn killed it slowly. Some fox or other nocturnal creature approached us and left just as easily when it heard the sound of our breaths. And so the ballet story died peacefully. Draco softly greeted it goodbye with a cheerful eulogy.

"So you can do a twirl?" asked Draco with a childlike expression of thrill that felt foreign, yet natural.

"It's called a pirouette. And, yes, of course. I can do triple ones _en pointe_."

"Do that!" he almost shouted.

"Get outta here..." I said looking down.

"Are you embarrassed or something?"

"I'm not ashamed. The ground is not stable and I need proper shoes and I haven't done that in ages."

"Come on! Do something else. Do that thing where they jump and spread their legs apart."

" _Grand jete._ And no. I don't remember these things anymore."

"I know you do," he said with extreme certainty.

"Some other time."

And so the ballet story was buried near the banks of a lake and as in all funerals, you feel like something is missing. Most times, you regret not saying something. This applied in this case as well. I was burying a story without even telling it.

The night was getting cold. I was protected enough by the heavy layers on me but Draco was now beginning to shiver. These shivers were nothing you could notice if you weren't paying close enough attention.

"I'm getting tired," he announced soon. He couldn't fool me; he was just too stubborn and strong to admit he was cold.

And indeed, the few times that our hands briefly met on our way back to the castle, his skin was as cold as ice.

He walked into the Common Room hastily and headed to the fireplace. The fire had died out by now. Draco quickly added a few logs in the hollow and lit it again with his wand. In a castle where fires were always invisibly lit by elves, I was impressed by the sheer skill that one needed to light a fireplace efficiently. Most times I had tried it, the flames would die out within a few minutes. There was something about the position of the logs that only my father could get right. Somehow I had connected the lighting of a fire with the skills of a man and a primal, instinctive and anti-feministic cell inside me was acting up again.

Then with two strong arms and no wand, he pushed the sofa near the fireplace and settled in with his feet extended on a stool.

"Well, I'm going to go then," I said after feeling the heat either from the fireplace or Draco's efforts.

"No!" he snapped. He didn't exclaim and his voice showed no trace or longing, but it was enough for a Draco Malfoy. "Do you have any other semi-interesting books? Or maybe something that's actually worth my time?" he added.

"Wait a second," I said.

I had just the right book saved in my trunk. By the time I was back with the thin paperback with a collection of muggle poems, Draco had taken off his sweater. The black silk shirt against his back made expensive muggle brands blush in embarrassment.

"Here," I said and left the book on his chest.

It showed from far away that the book was muggle. The pages were of clean, white paper with crisp edges. The cover was of a vibrant purple colour, no fades or creases. Draco seemed to have noticed that, so now he was touching the book only from its corners.

"What's this rubbish?"

I sat at the other end of the sofa and took off Draco's sweater. Giving it back was a loss. For all I cared, I wanted to use it as a pillowcase and smell it all night.

"Page 153. Read," I simply said.

"It's muggle."

"No, silly. It's poetry."

"Ha. Ha." He said that in a straight face that only he could muster.

My braid had come undone by now so I got to work, forming it again. Draco looked at me with disbelief.

"Just. Read." It was an order.

First, he took off his shoes and extended his legs across the sofa. Then he threw the blanket over us and when he was ready, he opened the book.

_"One day in blue-moon September_   
_silent under a plum tree_   
_I held her, my silent pale love_   
_in my arms like a fair and lovely dream."_

Draco was reciting in some angry, aggressive way that didn't do the poem justice.

"Calm down," I said in a soft voice. "It is Brecht that you're reading."

His look didn't soften but when he continued, his voice had a mellow tone.

_"And above us in the summer skies,_   
_was a cloud that caught my eye._   
_It was so white and high up,_   
_And when I looked up, it was no longer there."_

He looked at me over the book. He was thoughtful and he didn't want to be detected, so he turned his gaze to the fire.

"So?" I asked.

"Childish," he said in a harsh tone.

"Page 64," I said.

_"Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village,_

_Downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph-"_

And as he was reading, he let out a long heavy breath. His chest cried in melancholy. Draco brought two fingers near his lips as he did when he was smoking. Then again, this habitual movement was a product of sadness itself. He was living it right at that moment, and I confirmed knew what I was doing.

"Stop," I said. "What do you think of Mr Ginsberg?" I threw my head back and massaged a sore point on my neck.

"Its muggle is showing," he said, almost angrily again.

My legs were cramped and I couldn't get comfortable even after taking my shoes off and folding them near my chest. Unexpectedly, surprisingly, unpredictably, Draco patted his lap. It soon became apparent he was inviting me to spread myself across the couch as well. I stared for a second because this little act of comfort didn't comply with the annoyance in his voice. I didn't look into it too much. I simply lifted the blanket momentarily and spread my feet so that they sat on his lap.

"We are getting closer. You, sir, need dear, old Whitman. Page 13," I ordered. I chose the most famous one, the most universal one. What could go wrong?

_"Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,_

_Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish,_

_Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless_?) _"_

It was hard to understand Whitman in one reading. Usually, I stayed away from extensive dissertations on his work, afraid that I would get lost and soon lose the point itself. Mum could rumble about how he destroyed the patterns of traditional poetry, how he poured his madness in the metre and verses. I knew I was an amateur in poetry and I never pretended to be anything more.

But no; to me, poetry was more than understanding the words themselves; poetry was emotion, that first emotion, that initial feeling when you read that truthful verse and somehow wonder how one line could mean a million different things while still evoking that one emotion; that emotion that I could see in Draco's eyes.

"I get it now," I said when I had to face his silence.

"What do you mean?"

"You are not a 'philosophy' guy," I said. "You're a 'poetry' guy. Poetry guy to the bone."

"I never said I liked it."

"I never said you did. If you ask me, that beautiful poem you wrote in my book spoke for itself," I said. "And come on, now. You liked it."

"You're so full of yourself. I didn't write it for you, you know! It just... came to mind and you seem perfectly fine with destroying your books," he said hesitantly.

"So you wrote it for Eudoxus Perrish?"

"Screw you!"

"Just admit you liked the poem!" I snapped.

He only dropped his head sideways and sucked his teeth. His eyes said: 'It could be better.' It was his very obnoxious way to admit that he at least admired a poem written by a man that belonged in a different species for him.

Feelings and sentiments, whether magical or muggle, were always the same. The colours of emotions could vary to infinity; but emotion itself was a universal value that anyone could feel, and even mighty, stone-cold Draco Malfoy couldn't escape its sharp knives. Thus, his confession came out of the blue and all at once.

"Do you know what would happen, if my Father knew I am holding a muggle book in my hands? Do you know what he would do if-"

Draco froze but took a short breath to hide it as a pause.

I knew how to never push someone who didn't want to talk. But he was coming undone right before me as he was running his fingers through his white hair in frustration. Maybe all he needed was a little push.

"If what?" I asked.

"If he knew I liked it," he admitted.

"Well, then don't tell him. I doubt the man can read your mind and detect some muggle poem you once liked," I said.

"Very funny."

"I didn't say it as a joke. You're sixteen years old. I bet you can keep some things to yourself."

"It's not that simple in my family." Draco swallowed on what seemed like a dry throat. "And if he knew that I am sitting around with a damned half-blood, listening to muggle music, having her feet on my lap, instead of-"

He stopped again, and this time, something told me that if I pressured him, he would either shrivel up and disappear or erupt in shouts.

"He is not here," I said.

"I am sure that you will not understand this. I imagine that if your father ran off with a muggle, he must have been of pretty loose morals." His harsh tone had returned. I was amazed by how quickly he could turn a casual conversation to an outrageous insult.

"Don't talk about my father like this. You don't know him. You don't have the right," I snapped seriously.

"Even though I am not to be told how to speak by a half-blood," he said smugly, "You're missing my point entirely. What I wanted to explain was that... My parents are very... invasive."

"Does your father run background checks on your all your friends' blood status?" I was still sore from his way of talking about my father but was willing to let it go for a moment.

"Are you surprised?" he smirked.

"Well, then we will have to be friends in secret, won't we?" I said. "That's a sentence I never thought I would say. There was something entirely 'Emily Bronte' about it, I couldn't put my finger to it."

"Whoever told you that we are going to become friends is hilarious. I need to meet them. Maybe they'll cheer me up. There is no way I would ever be friends with a muggle-lover – or scarhead's friend for that matter."

 _Here we go again,_ I thought. He was acting tough. It didn't matter if he was relaxed for a night; he had to be back to normal by morning.

But I am a Slytherin as well, and I know how to speak the truth even when it sounds uncomfortable and cruel. I am a Slytherin, and I am as stubborn as anyone who wears green. I am a Slytherin, and I am not afraid to use my wit to get what I want. I am a Slytherin and I am neither ready nor willing to give up just yet.

"Too late. We already _are_ friends."

_...He can't deny it now. After all, he said that he wants to learn how to play the guitar and I am going to keep my end of the bargain. Tomorrow I am going to find him a guitar in the Room of Requirement. If he doesn't learn how to play by the end of the month, I am going to kill that son of a bitch._

_See you soon,_   
_Ophelia_

* * *


	22. Friendship Montage

D

And so began our inevitable friendship.

The nights were growing longer as winter approached us but they were never long enough. So lost was I in our endless talks, that we would watch the moon rise behind the castle and then, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, it was slowly vanishing behind the trees of the dark forest behind us.

We were lucky that the rain had stopped for our walk. October had opened with a week of endless thunderstorms. Now, well past midnight, the forest smelled of sodden mud and wet leaves. The air was sour and tangled with the sweet smell of apples. Harvest was upon us, and Ophelia told me that Hagrid had found a few apple trees near his hut and had collected some for apple pies. Ophelia said that the pies weren't that good but our meadow smelled of apples and cinnamon for days.

"Did you _have_ to bring the cat with you?"

I watched Ophelia holding her silver pinky-ring in the moonlight and Alaska was suddenly frantically trying to catch the light in her paws, her green eyes wide and round in excitement.

"Poor thing is terrified of thunders. I left her alone for two hours in the afternoon and she ripped a curtain apart. The other night she woke me up with her whining. She wanted a hug. So I wanted to treat her. She deserves some freedom after what she went through these days."

"I hate cats," I lied.

Ophelia's hazel eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"Are you a dog person?"

"I hate dogs, too." That was a lie as well.

Ophelia dropped her head sideways and masterfully planned a way to annoy me. She was reading me. She pointed the ring towards me and Alaska jumped on my leg lightly. The creature started tugging on my tie and scratching my chin with blade-like nails. Ophelia was pointing the light on my shirt on purpose.

"What are you doing? What are you – 3?"

Ophelia put her ring back on her pinky but Alaska was still on my lap – she was now interested in the snake ring – the one Father had given me when I was 12. When I twisted my hand, Alaska started sniffing my palm.

"I think she likes you."

And I liked her as well. Because even though I was never allowed a pet – a pet of all things! – I knew that I loved cats and dogs equally and nothing could change my mind.

"That's... enough..." I said silently. But Alaska was already comfortable on me and I was fully aware that she didn't understand my English and if she did, she was probably too relaxed and snobby to even care.

"She is going to shed her fur on me. This is a good suit!"

"It's a black cat on a black suit. Cry me a river."

And soon, I was petting the damn thing, feeling the purr on my stomach as she fell in something close to a slumber. Fuck, that thing was cute.

"Why _do_ you always wear black?" asked Ophelia.

"Why do you always wear a white shirt and a sweater?"

"Because I like it?"

"No," I informed her. "You wear it because it's proper. You like it because it hides you. If people knew what you hide under your very tidy looks, they would get scared."

And in her silence, I knew I had struck gold.

"What is your point?"

"I wear black because it is expected of me as well. It hides me too. I grew to like what suits me, or ought to suit me."

It was easy with us; a conversation as light as a feather and as meaningless and unnecessary as clothes had turned into a confession; a raw and naked confession.

"Also, it's sexy."

I couldn't tell her that my present from Father for my 13th birthday was the most expensive suit he could find. I couldn't tell her that it was what I had seen him wear every single day when I was a child. I couldn't tell her that I wore it as a coat of honour – because I knew it was the mirror of my duties, a reflection of my life.

So, I told her something similar and relied on her to read between the lines. I was progressively sure she managed that perfectly, and so the hardest things were mentioned in the subtlest of ways, as they should.

Ophelia sat near me, petted Alaska with me. I wasn't afraid to let our hands meet now. It was Ophelia, my friend Ophelia, raw and naked Ophelia, and I craved every touch I could steal from her.

* * *

O

_October 10th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_I am sorry I don't write too much nowadays. I know that most days I rely on a spell to store my memories in here. I know you like it when I write more._

_The truth is that I am a hot mess. I wake up at 5.30 each morning in order to keep my promise to Hermione and study for at least two hours before breakfast. Then, classes as usual. I skip lunch and take a nap before classes resume. By 5 o'clock, I am free. I drink my third cup of coffee for the day and get back to studying for two more hours before dinner – which I would skip if I wasn't starving by that point. I usually return to the Common Room to studying for a couple more hours. At ten o'clock, it's time for my second nap of the day. I set my alarm at 12 (something that keeps Maya wondering). I drink another cup of coffee for good measure._

_And so my night begins. My new friend is as much of a night owl as I am. He seems to be having as much of a hard time with this schedule as I do, but neither of us cares. Who cares if we have red and purple bags under our eyes? And yet, both of us seem to have more energy than ever before._

_Sometimes we don't talk. We can do our own thing and it's still comfortable. We could both read different books and not mind._

_We return to our dorms in the middle of the night and our ways never part before 3.30._

_I know what you will say: Ophelia Blackthorn, you are spreading yourself too thin again. But you know, I read somewhere that DaVinci never slept during the night; he only took several short naps throughout his day! Did you know that? Okay, maybe I'm not DaVinci but these 3 and a half hours with Draco are worth it._

_I am having fun, Margot. I do feel guilty about it, but I also feel happy when we are together._

_Somehow, I am waiting for your blessing to write to you less._

_See you soon,  
Ophelia_

* * *

D

In my Van Gogh notebook, I tried to write a poem. Instead, I got lost and only wanted to write about her.

Here lay the things I've noticed about her:

She always wears her hair on a long braid down her back. I already knew that much but I paid special attention to it whenever the plait gets messy and she lets her hair down only to braid it again. When she lets her hair down, it's like seeing another person.

She always wears a dainty silver necklace – the one with the circle (or the letter 'O').

She is amazing with everything that has to do with her hands. She plays the guitar beautifully and her handwriting is flirting with calligraphy.

She has a childhood scar on her chin. When she was four, she tripped on the stairs. You have to lean in to notice it. When she first dropped her head back to point the white spot, all I could see was her long, naked neck. I couldn't concentrate.

She could easily become a teacher. There is something about her when she shows you how to hold the guitar properly that doesn't make you feel small. She makes it seem as if she knows less than you – which is not true. She never wants you to feel inferior.

She dances beautifully. Although my efforts to make her dance ballet in front of me had failed tremendously, whenever she introduces me to a cool song, she can sway from side to side strikingly. The remainders of a ballerina are obvious in the smallest of moves.

She turns me on. A lot. 'Language!' she yells whenever I make a bloodist slur, and all I want to do is attack, undress her, caress her.

She is the only thing between me and insanity.

I think I'm falling for her. That's not a fact about Ophelia but it's still a fact.

And then I realized how pathetic and ridiculous I sounded, so I tore the page apart and threw it into the flames of the burning fire.

* * *

O

_October 15th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_You were the one to teach me_ Yesterday _by_ the Beatles _on the guitar, and whenever I play it, I think of you._

_But he picked it up so easily! One day I was showing him the basic chords and the next he knew most of them by heart. He still needs practice (he pauses a lot between the chords) but his rhythm is impeccable. I don't understand how this can be!_

_I taught him some easy-breezy songs at first but he was insatiable. I showed him every song I knew until my amateur ass ran out of knowledge. Now, whenever he listens to a song in my cassette player, he can imitate it in minutes. He is so smart, for fuck sake!_

_When he plays, he takes his blazer off and therefore, he reminds me of the older kids in school. They were all in a band somehow and they all wore black shirts most of the time. They had that rock and grudge air about them. Draco is the same._

_G̶o̶d̶,̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶m̶u̶s̶c̶l̶e̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶i̶c̶k̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶y̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶r̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ ̶c̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶s̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶o̶o̶d̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶a̶p̶s̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶e̶f̶f̶e̶c̶t̶.̶ ̶I̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶s̶o̶n̶ ̶w̶h̶o̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ ̶b̶e̶s̶t̶ ̶f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶I̶ ̶d̶o̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶.̶_

_See you soon,  
Ophelia_

* * *

D

And I was slowly starting to open up in front of her like a rosebud blooming in mid-spring.

It helped that no one knew we were now friends. Blaise and Maya still thought that I had whole-heartedly allowed them to use my dorm every couple of days from the good of my heart. They didn't know that while they were sleeping next to my empty bed, I was out to meet Ophelia. And Maya always returned to her dorm early in the morning so she never knew that Ophelia was out of her bed with me.

I suspected correctly that it worked in everyone's benefit that things were hushed down and moved in shadows. Ophelia seemed to enjoy her friendships and things between Potter and me weren't exactly at their best at the moment. And then, it worked in my favour as well. If no one knew, there would be no one to tell my mother about a friendship with a half-blood. In another light, the more secrecy our friendship held, the easier it was for me to pour my thoughts on her. If she dared reveal the smallest, most unimportant thing about me to someone, I could simply call her crazy and that could be that. That's how I excused myself for melting in her presence.

But no, I don't think it was the safety that attracted me either. I trusted her enough.

No, I just wanted this for myself, all for myself.

And so, in the dark, I allowed myself to soften my thorns from time to time.

"Where did you go to school before Hogwarts?" I asked over my book. I had decided that this novel was not for me and I was feeling talkative. The alcohol I had consumed before our meeting wasn't helping – all I wanted to do was talk nonsense.

"What do you mean? I went to my nearby primary school in London."

"Was it a muggle school?"

"Wasn't it for all of us before Hogwarts?" Ophelia hadn't given my questions much thought, but now she was intrigued.

"Well, my parents shipped me off to a boarding elementary school that is only for wizards. We didn't learn any magic, of course, but at least we were all wizards and witches there."

This was as much as I could soften myself. I couldn't say more. I couldn't reveal more about my life. I was too afraid of getting used to sharing and then what would happen?

"But you took the same courses as any school? English and Maths and History?"

"Well, yes, we did."

"Then what was the point?"

"Better than being homeschooled, I guess," I shrugged and felt like I had gone too far.

Because, again, it was the only way to explain. Father was adamant about giving me a muggle-free life. When our options were put on the table, my mother turned her heart into stone and decided that it would pain her to see me once every fortnight but the pain wouldn't even be close to having me constantly in the house, where I would watch their marriage fail and only survive, where I would watch her cover the bruises, where I would constantly be near my father's grasp.

"I think it's a good way to connect to the outside world. Maybe make some friends, too," said Ophelia.

"Oh, come on. Who wants that? Muggles don't understand a thing. Not to mention that these friendships don't last." I wanted to be careful with how I put this. Every time we argued about wizard superiority, Ophelia would lose her patience with me. It was such a beautiful night and I didn't want to press her.

"Not the bloodist nonsense again!" Ophelia snorted.

"No, hear me out. There are so many things separating us from the muggles. We lead extraordinary lives full of wonders and magic. Meanwhile, they are the most oblivious kind there is. Say that you actually did make some friends. How exactly are you going to explain that you learned how to turn a rooster to a wrist-watch instead of doing Algebra or whatever bullshit they learn in their schools? How do you explain that you repaired a broken bone in a few hours or that you don't need public transportation once you can Apparate?"

"There are effective ways to hide all this..." she tried, but I was getting a feeling that it was the one argument she couldn't fight. The practical side of our differences was indisputable and had little to do with our contradicting ideologies.

"Yes, but it's tiring to hide all your life. And if you can't even talk about your day to day life, how are you going to have a good friendship? There are so many things between us other than our nature. Can you honestly tell me that you have maintained a healthy friendship with anyone you met at your muggle elementary school?" I asked.

"Well, I didn't have friends in school, to be honest."

"What about that friend you've mentioned. The one from ballet classes? Do you mean to tell me you keep in contact with her?"

Ophelia wasn't looking at me. Now, looking back, I know why. At the time it was just another talk.

"No, not anymore," she said bluntly, not a trace of emotion.

"See?" I said proudly.

It was the most usual thing for her to defend the muggles, yet she dropped the issue at once.

And so she would fall into deep silence.

Just as I thought that I was being the secretive one, she would barge in and debunk me. If she had shared one or two things about her life, about her hobbies, about her talents, about her family, she had done so as an exception. At first, she seemed like a fairly open person, one who hides for a little while, until you get to know her but then opens up as trust builds up. I thought her ballet story wouldn't be the only one I heard from her.

I was wrong. She would open her notebook and write yet another letter to some unknown person. I would sit opposite her and read the next book in her endless must-read list. And so, we dealt with undiscussed problems in a civilized way.

It's funny; I always thought _I_ was the mysterious one.

* * *

O

_October 30th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_The strangest thing is that I always thought he liked me a little bit. After all, you always said that true friendships between boys and girls are very rare. I am the proudest example of this paradigm because I can't honestly tell you I never thought of him in a way other than a platonic one._

_I know the way to the old elm tree better than the back of my hand by now. I know where to duck, where each unsteady rock lies, where the ground is steel or slippery; but I always let him help me because I long for any touch I can get. I am sometimes tempted to fall in his arms but I then realise how cheesy and giddy I sound in my own head. Instead, I watch him untie his tie after a long and tiring day. I watch him undo some of the buttons on his shirt and set his rings aside. I watch him play with his wand and lick his lips after taking a draw from his cigarettes._

_But he seems to be totally disinterested. He is unaware of the effects he has on me and it seems that I have no effect on him. And anyway, if he liked me, then he surely must have made a move by now. I know a few things about his past. He was never the one to hesitate. He didn't even hesitate to flirt with a stranger at the Yule Ball. No, if he liked me, he would have done something about it by now._

_Strangely, things are enough for me as they are. I know you might not believe it Margot, but spending these few hours every night together is enough for me._

_See you soon,_   
_Ophelia_

* * *

D

Halloween found us there. There; at the banks of the Black Lake.

I had approached her carefully during our last Potion's class. Everyone had already started brewing their Potion and we were the only ones that had been left to gather their ingredients from the cupboard.

"Do you know what I've always wanted?"

I whispered like my life depended on it. I was glad she did too.

"What?" she said through her teeth.

"Do you know a muggle guy named Elvis Presley?"

"Is that even a question?" she rolled her eyes. It had been a hard day since I had received yet another pressuring letter from Mother, so even that roll of eyes made me crack a slight smile.

"Do you have some?"

And so, we skipped the Halloween feast, lay down facing the stars, and just listened. Just listened.

_Wise men say only fools rush in  
_ _But I can't help falling in love with you_

I turned my face to her.

She was admiring the night sky; and now I knew.

Now I knew what her eyes truly looked like. They were golden and brown; trees that were now fully succumbing to the autumn weather. They were holding specks of yellowish-green; nature's last attempt to maintain its fresh and flourishing colours. They were dark and secretive; the sky's grey and black veil that holds the gloomy rain. They were hazy and cold; the white Scottish mist that was drenching some haunted woods.

Now I knew. Her eyes were the colour of autumn.

She had stopped looking at the stars by now. She was now resting her autumn eyes and smiling as the song played on. Now that I was safe from her gaze, I could study her face more carefully. I wanted to make her picture clear in my head because sometimes, when I was in some boring class or reading a mediocre book, I tried to bring her image in my mind and I felt like I didn't have enough details.

Then again, touch had memory and how can you truly remember someone who you have never touched the way you long to?

She must have felt my gaze. That is the only explanation I could give this; for why else would she open her eyes before I could fully absorb her image in my mind? I looked away quickly. I would not be able to handle the embarrassment if our eyes ended up meeting.

 _Just friends_ , I reminded myself.

For what else could we become? Why would I want something more of her? Why would I want to inflict more pain to a creature as corruptly pure as Ophelia?

* * *

O

_October 31st, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_Okay, maybe – just maybe – I might have underestimated a few things._

_I wish I could describe his face whenever he listens to a muggle song. I feel like he is trying to hide how much he likes it. The wizards never made exceptional music, in my humble opinion. I think that because we have so much magic in our lives, we don't necessarily feel the need to produce the subtle kind of magic that music holds._

_So Draco draws a breath. He awaits for another magical kick._

_I keep wanting to ask him if he actually remembers the Yule Ball night. In my mind, I am the only one who remembers the night we met._

_But I am afraid that I'm going to give my game away if I ask something like this. Sometimes I think that everything is in my head, that his feelings are nothing but a fraction of my imagination._

_But then again, who could question that look on his face when he listens to music? This kind of music means less when you are not in love._

_See you soon,  
Ophelia_

* * *

D

November found me looking at her, maniacally writing in her notebook. I began to notice that there were only a few more pages for her to write on. I began wondering if it was the right time to give her the second Van Gogh notebook I had bought from the museum gift shop. It was rotting away in my trunk and although sometimes I used mine to write some heavy-hearted poetry, the second one still remained unused. As always, it was waiting for her.

"When is your birthday?" I asked her. Maybe her birthday would be the right opportunity to pass this present as expected.

"December 23rd," she answered. It was still a month away. I was disappointed. "Why?"

"Just asking."

And then she went back to her writing since this wasn't a particularly chatty night. Up until then, I had noticed that I was the only person in front of whom she felt comfortable enough to write in that notebook. Yes, sometimes she wrote during classes and in the Slytherin Common Room but rarely while she was hanging out with her friends. I liked to think that we only found a peace of mind only when we were together.

"Maya says she is really tired of Polyxeny," said Ophelia unexpectedly.

"Are we going to gossip about school drama?" I scorned.

"I am serious. She is bullying her day and night! Ever since she found out that Blaise and she are a thing she is doing all sorts of nasty things. The other day she slipped an acne pastille in her juice – you know, the ones you get from the Weasleys."

"Well, it seems that Dumbledore doesn't just accept mudbloods in this pathetic school; he also accepts three-year-olds. So ahead of his time that man..." I said and shook my head in contempt.

"Language!" Ophelia snapped. She never got used to my slurs. "Anyway, didn't you used to date her?" I saw her expression clearly. She was playing her indifferent and blasé part, as always. But I knew her enough by this point to be sure that if she wasn't looking right in my eyes, she was hiding something. This time, I think she was hiding some jealousy or at least interest in my past, so I was pleased with myself.

"Why do you have to remind me of this fortnight-long mistake?"

She smiled lightly, airily. "Why should it be a mistake?"

"Because..." I started and thought long and hard of my answer, "it was the kind of relationship I now see and laugh at or pity."

"What kind of relationship?"

"Well, you know... It was... the unimportant fling that is dressed in drama, full of fake, self-centred tears. It was the short relationship that you live to regret wasting your time on. The kind Blaise and Maya have right now. Yes, I'm happy for him and I hope they last, but come on... They fight every two days and start anew within an hour. They tried keeping a perfectly normal relationship a secret, all because of some idiotic name Maya wanted to uphold. They are making problems up so that they can avoid how easy it all is for them. I was definitely like this some time ago and now I regret it."

"So basically you regret acting like a normal teenager?" asked Ophelia. She always had an answer ready.

"Well, now that I am standing on the outside, looking in, I realize how immature I was. The amount of times I mistook something unimportant for something real is immense. And the strange thing is that just as I made this realization, everyone around me started falling in and out of love, as if on purpose. The whole school has gone crazy! Seriously when I think that I even resembled those self-centred freaks, I want to puke," I said.

I was waiting for some clever line, one that would shut me up at once. But now, she didn't even raise her eyes from her notebook and giggled.

"Well, to be honest, they all _are_ starting to get on my nerves as well. I don't know if everyone just wants to release their hormones after they were _that_ constricted under Umbridge's dictatorial regime, but I am getting sick and tired of watching couples snog _everywhere_. And suddenly _everyone_ has found someone. _Everyone_ is in love and it's going to last _forever_. 'It doesn't matter if we are just 16; Jordan and I _love_ each other. _We_ are different.'" She rolled her eyes and made an ironic lovesick face. "And have you noticed that everyone has this nice, secret place that only _they_ know of and it's so special for everyone? Well, in reality, everyone's nice, secret place is the Astronomy Tower and to be honest, it's getting kind of crowded for a _secret_ place, don't you think? Seriously, what is wrong with this Tower? God, I hate them all so much!"

She paused and exhaled.

"And everyone is suffering. Everyone is heartbroken," she said. "If this is pain, I'll take some too."

She was still scribbling in her notebook as she talked. It was one of those times that her thoughts came our unfiltered and raw but with a certain lightness in them. She was never mean. She was a polite cynic. She suddenly stopped and looked up.

"God, I'm beginning to sound like you!" she scoffed after a second.

"Welcome to the cool club, darling."

She rolled her eyes as always. It was becoming her signature. It was Ophelia against my cockiness. It was Ophelia against my dumb jokes. It was Ophelia against my pointed narcissism. It was Ophelia and her rolling eyes.

And then came the thoughts on the matter. Watching Blaise's relationship was a pretty good indicator of what things should look like for a 16-year-old teenager. All that he cared these days was where and how he would fuck his girlfriend and not that I didn't get disgusted whenever I saw them making a big deal out of their minuscule problems, but I was almost jealous that the only thing at stake was Maya's petty school friendships and the most dangerous thing that could happen to Blaise was a punch from Marcus Flint.

I decided to share.

"Don't feel bad. I pity them too. How juvenile to think you suffer in a 'difficult' relationship... How childish to think it's an actual problem... But then again, I envy them. Young lovers are blissful in their ignorance. I'd give it all away to feel that easy sadness."

Ophelia looked dazed for a second and just as I thought she would mock and laugh at the pretentious depth of my words, she opened her eyes widely and gasped;

"Oh my God, write that down right now!"

I laughed but accepted the muggle pen she was offering me. I stained the book with my messy handwriting and felt proud.

"Do you realise how pretentious we sound?" she asked. Her autumn eyes were focused on mine.

"Slytherin style."

I returned to my reading. The book was called _Wuthering Heights_. It was muggle. Ophelia said that it talked about the universal subject of love. It was unnerving how, whenever she wanted to pass a piece of muggle art for valuable, she would say that the values in it were _universal_ and _showed no exception to those who don't have magical abilities._ At first, I scoffed loudly whenever she said that but sometimes, while reading about how Heathcliff couldn't have his Kathy, I understood why she was claiming all these hopelessly romantic things. Yes, our main characters were divided by class and prejudice. But if you replaced the word 'class' with 'blood', all you were left was a story very similar to mine.

Sometimes I felt proud myself for shedding this light upon the pages, but then I reminded myself that Heathcliff and Kathy were truly and deeply in love, while Ophelia and I were nothing more than friends.

A rumble of thunder was heard over our heads and grey clouds were gathering. Ophelia looked up.

"Don't make me get up," I said. "She is about to die."

I gave her a grim look, almost sad, and returned to my book.

It was one of these times that the universe ruins one thing only to give you something better, for the rain might have stopped my reading mid-sentence and honestly at the best part of the book, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Let me explain.

Ophelia looked up worried. The raindrops were already wetting her hair, curling the loose strands around her face.

"It's going to stop in a minute!" I insisted.

"Are you mad?" Ophelia was already on her feet. She quickly took her green sweater off and remained with her casually white shirt that was hidden underneath. She held the sweater over her head, hoping that this would protect from the rain, but the weather was steadily growing aggressive.

"It's just a drizzle!" I shouted.

"Suit yourself! You can stay here and soak all you want; I want a cup of tea near the fireplace."

I watched her stubbornly walking away and somehow I was afraid to leave her alone. I followed.

It was now officially pouring and there wasn't much hope to run back to the castle. We had to climb and hop the slippery rocks near the Black Lake in order to see some stable grass again and our vision was blurred as everything around us turned into succumbed to the rainfall.

"Draco! Slow down!" Ophelia hissed at me. As always, she was lingering behind. She was still hopelessly trying to hold her sweater over her head.

"You're already getting yourself wet; just put the sweater away. It's slowing you down."

"That's bold coming from Mr Don't-Touch-My-Hair!"

I ran back to her, grabbed the sweater at once and yanked it away from her.

"Give it back!" she shouted. She sounded annoyed but her face was bright with a smile.

"Come and get it!" I said and continued my run to the castle.

"Malfoy, you're such an arse!" she screamed but caught up quickly.

She pushed me lightly (it must have been as hard as she could push).

"No one touched my books or my sweaters!"

She held my hand tightly. Wet fingers interlocked and pulled each other. We both laughed our way back to the castle but didn't run. There was something liberating about not caring if you smudge yourself in front of your friend.

In the corridor that led to the kitchens, we heard steps. We waited for ages for Filch to make his usual way up to the Gryffindor Tower so that we could run to the dungeons. We were inches away from getting caught, our hearts beat as one, yet we couldn't contain our laughter. Through the thrill of getting expelled, we knew we were making memories.

"It was just a bit of rain; if you're not made of sugar, you won't melt."

We entered the Common Room, soaking wet and trembling. The couch was waiting for me, the fireplace next to it was still burning. This unexpected wave of rainfall had robbed me of my time with Ophelia and now I had to sleep unsatisfied in this cold sitting room, since my dorm was politely confiscated by Blaise and Maya for tonight.

"I'm going to walk you up," I said and followed Ophelia up the stairs.

"You don't need to beg me, Malfoy. Yes, I have dry clothes for you. You'd be surprised by the number of oversized sweatshirts I own."

The truth was that I never gave this detail much thought; I was soaking and didn't have fresh clothes – nor could I enter my dorm, for I was afraid and disgusted by what I'd find Blaise and Maya doing there – but if truth be told, a simple drying spell could do the trick. To my surprise, however, I wasn't utterly repulsed by the idea of sleeping inside of Ophelia's clothes, so I simply followed her without a word.

She left me waiting outside her door and she returned with a black sweatshirt on hand.

I had the chance to look at her more carefully now that everything had settled down. Her fingers were still trembling. Her lips were blue from the cold – or was it just the cold light in the hallway that made them look like this?

I looked down. The white shirt that she was wearing was stuck on her like a layer of second skin, paper-thin and translucent skin. Underneath, her bra was showing.

Fuck; her bra was black, dark like her aura, made of mesh and lace like her soul. I was tempted to stare.

The stone wall was very close behind her and for a moment, all I wanted was to pin her on it. Her room was right behind her, her roommate was away, her bed was empty. Would it be such a heinous crime if I lifted her up and placed her on that bed? Would we regret it if I dried her wet skin with my breath? Her lips were still blue and freezing. Was I a monster for wanting to warm them up and kiss them?

"Well... Goodnight then..." In her voice, there wasn't much need to fill the void. She liked our electricity.

I looked in her eyes. Her pupils were dilating again. Her body was attracted to me too. I didn't know what was happening inside her mind but eyes rarely lie about such things.

I took a step toward her, a slow and hesitant one. I wanted to test the waters; see if she would flinch. She didn't even blink, only separated her lips for a breath.

I took the sweatshirt and there was something about having her hands so close to mine that made me forget any decency that was left in me. I didn't think about it much. I trapped her wrist between my fingers and pulled her in. Quickly, swiftly, agonizingly, I gave her a light peck. Years later, I don't remember where my lips landed. At the moment, I wanted to think that I was brave, so I told myself I hit somewhere between her cheek and her mouth. Deep inside, I knew I had just given her the friendliest kiss my cowardly self could muster.

"Goodnight."

I vanished and didn't hover to see her reaction.

I changed into her oversized sweatshirt – which in all reality was only tight on me – and laid on the couch.

I was such a fool.

I remembered a quiet ride in some London train on a Sunday morning. Two muggles were sitting behind me and I was annoyed by their loud conversation. One said that he was in love with his best friend and the other proclaimed that he was officially in something called 'the friend zone'. At the time, I thought this term was silly but now I felt it in my bones. With this stupid little kiss, I had rendered myself deep in what the muggles called 'the friend zone.'

What was I thinking with that kiss? What soft, pathetic excuse did I have for this? Why was I being so awkward?

But then again, what excuse would I have if I had acted otherwise. What excuse would I have if I had stuck her on that stone wall the way I wanted? What excuse would I have if I had my way with her? Would I say that I had simply flirted with the muddy side of a witch? Would I say that I was experimenting with the limits of my ideologies?

Or would I honestly think that there was some future in a more passionate kiss? My mission, my destiny, my past and my present didn't allow me to think so.

I was left motionless on that couch, smelling her perfume on the tight sweatshirt. I closed my eyes and all I saw was Ophelia and her transparent little shirt, her playful bra, her trembling hands. I noticed the familiar firmness in my trousers. I squinted and tried to push the thoughts away. This wasn't the time nor the place to think of her. I couldn't do this here; I couldn't think of her slender body between my arms. It wasn't the right place to imagine was lay under her transparent clothes.

The hardness in my pants became severe and wooden. She was still up there. By now, she must have taken her wet clothes off. She was lying on her empty bed. I could still go up there. I could still barge in and lean close to her. I could still take off that black little bra of hers and admire her. I could still bury her under my tongue and wander lower for her – all for her. I could still make her mine tonight.

The stiffness was now resting on my stomach but I dared not acknowledge it. Even if I came in seconds for her, I would still be unsatisfied. I wanted her whole.

* * *


	23. Autumn Snow

D

I had gotten a poor amount of sleep. It was becoming something of a habit of mine. Although I tried to keep up with my school work, I created a strange hierarchy for my daily tasks. Usually, I lied to myself and said that completing the Dark Lord's mission was on the top of my list - and I did take one or two steps towards that goal. I studied curses in the forbidden section; I really did. But whenever I had flashes of honesty, I admitted that if I were to choose between a studying session in the Forbidden Section of the library and a midnight walk with Ophelia, I would almost certainly choose the latter.

In any case, studying for school was placed somewhere lower in my abnormal hierarchy, and therefore my new purpose in life was to see how many Defense Against the Dark Arts classes I could sleep through without actually failing it. I never attempted this with other classes - I didn't have the professors' favour in other classes. So I blissfully slept in my bed while other people listen to Snape tirelessly talking about non-verbal spells. After all, I had mastered those long ago. And anyway, I wasn't committed to the idea of attending a class that was designed to teach students how to protect themselves from me. _I_ was the Dark Art in the title. _I_ was what they should defend themselves from.

That Monday morning, I dreamt that I was on a broom or at least flying. There was a snowstorm. The dream was so vivid and real that the snowflakes burned against my skin and made it tingle.

It seems that that's how I woke up that Monday morning.

The cold resembled the icy water that was splashed on my face. I choked and drowned in my violent and abrupt awakening.

"Ahh!" I screamed and struggled to open my eyes.

In a second, the heavy, green drapes of the dorm were pulled away and the light became blinding.

"Wake up, you worthless swine. This was the third consecutive class you have missed."

Snape's voice showed no emotion, and as I regained my abilities to tell shadows and features apart, I realized that his cruel face showed no emotion either.

"Are you fucking crazy?" I said wiping the water from my eyes. I dried my face on the blanket and sat up straight.

"You dare talk to me like this?" Snape attacked. He grasped my jaw painfully and pulled me out of the bed, his fingernails sinking in my cheeks painfully. "It has been more than a month. A month! The Dark Lord gave you an order! How dare you delay this? Do you have a death wish, boy? Do you?" he hissed and spat.

"Leave me the fuck alone! I am doing this on my own. I am doing this! Hear me? I am doing this!"

"You are doing nothing! Do you realize it is not just your worthless self that is caught in the middle of this operation? Do you realize I have a responsibility as well? I was ordained your guardian in this mission!" he said through his teeth. "And say you do not care if you drag me into death with you - I would expect no more from your father's son. But you don't seem interested in saving your parents either! Think, you fool! Think of your father! He is rotting in a cell! Think of your mother! She is putting herself in danger every day so that you can take your time! You selfish bastard, do you know what you're doing?"

Snape pushed me two fingers and threw me on the floor. If he hadn't caught me off guard, I would have fought back and stood solid.

"And on top of it all, you dare avoid me. You dare skip my class. You dare challenge me."

I was still choking on the water that had woken me up.

When I raised my eyes, Snape was watching me closely.

"Pathetic."

And he sounded like Father. The mean tints in his voice resembled what I knew best.

I wasn't going to stay on the cold floor like the 'pathetic' persona that both Father and Snape insisted on calling me. I had fought and worked day and night with empty bottles and safety razors so that I would feel no trace of soul in moments like these. That soul shrivelled up and curled itself in a dark corner and waited for the next bathtub, sip or autumn meadow to show itself. For now, it was crying and it was reducing itself into nothing. That soul was allowing me to look up to Snape with a decisive and cold-calm face.

"Tell them," I said, "that the job will be done before the week is out. Tell them I took my time to make sure it happened the right way. Tell them to get their wands ready and make sure you bring them in the castle through your office fireplace when I give you my sign on Saturday noon. Tell them that the old man will die."

I might have believed myself; I might have not. It was not of any importance because belief comes from the soul and, as aforementioned, the soul was not present to judge my actions with its pathetically sentimental emotionality.

Snape took a step back.

"And find a way to get me off of every class for the rest of the week. I need to find the right curse. Am I clear?"

"Are you sure you can fit it into your busy schedule? It seems too cluttered while you're dallying with an enemy," he said. "Do you know her father is in the Order? Do you know he and his muggle wife are being watched?"

And I didn't react. It was too late for the soul to jump up anyway.

"Am I clear?" I repeated one last time.

Snape flicked his cape and walked away slowly. He shut the door behind him.

I was still on the ground, so I let myself fall back heavily and cover my eyes. I thought that I only needed a moment to get up again but I lost track of time. I laid still on the dark wood of the floor and felt the wood under my fingertips getting warm, the water on my clothes drying again.

I wished I could have Ophelia's music box - no! No music box. A cassette player.

I brought a muggle song in my head. It didn't help. I was still looking for the right song for these moments.

I slept right there, on the cold hardware floor.

_It was one of these dreams that you don't exactly know if you're actually dreaming or are just completely lost in your memories, so much that you can feel it as if it's happening right at that moment._

_In my sleep, Mother was furious at me. Looking at her eyes felt strange when I was younger because it was like staring in the mirror. Her cloudy-sky eyes were angry._

_"Why did you treat that poor elf like this? Why did you shout at him?" Although her tone was austere, she kept her voice in a whisper. She looked down to me in a gaze to that was more painful than Father's hateful one; because I knew it was the gaze of morose disappointment and not utter disdain. I still remembered that she was wearing a pearl necklace that day._

_"It was slow-" I gave my case a poor effort._

_"It?_ It _?" Mother hissed._

_"Mother, I didn't do anything wrong!"_

_I was only now starting my rapid transition from 'mummy' to 'Mother', and it was obvious she didn't appreciate this shifting of names._

_"Draco, I do not like this new attitude! Go to your room right now!" She pointed a long finger to the end of the dark corridor and parched her lips tightly._

_"This is so unfair, Mother! I'm not small anymore. I can talk to it like a grown-up!"_

_In my seven-year-old mind, punishing an elf was in the same category as flying on a broomstick; the older you got the more you could punish or hit them, the further you were allowed to fly._

_Mother let her hand hang loose on her side. She sighed and seemed at a loss for words. She pressed her palms together and held the praying hands against her nose. She mustered a calm face and knelt down next to me. She seized my shoulders strictly but from now on, there would be nothing callous in her voice._

_"Draco. We do not treat the elves like this. You cannot treat them as objects. You cannot hit them. You cannot shout at them," she said._

_"But it was slow! I told it to get out of my room and it was slow! It's not that bad! I've seen Father do it a hundred times! It deserved it!"_

_She closed her eyes desperately. At the moment, I thought of her as the villain of the day but why would a villain be so calm, so collected?_

_"It's not an 'it', Draco. He has a name."_

_"But Father-"_

_"Dray, you're a big man now, aren't you?"_

_"Yes, Mother. I am." It was one of those things I rushed into saying, as if my life depended on it. It was my greatest pride to be treated as an equal and to receive the respect that came along with manhood._

_"Can I tell you a secret?" whispered Mother. "It will be just between you and me. Can I trust you?"_

_And my seven-year-old self, who had never again been trusted with something important or worthy of attention and care, quickly succumb to the feeling of some adult weight on my shoulders._

_"Yes," I nodded._

_"Well, now that you're all grown up, you have to know something. You don't have to do everything your father does. You have to have your own opinions."_

_I felt the weight of the truth quickly latch itself on me for the first time; because that was what it was. It was a weight. I didn't mind it. I welcomed it as an old friend, one that was hiding since the day I was born, waiting for me to become a day older and then another and then another so that it could form itself into words._

_The weight would nudge me every time I saw something beyond my reach: whenever I saw a bruise on my mother's skin, whenever I saw father abuse an elf, whenever I saw Mother reading a forbidden book during Father's working hours, whenever I overheard Father during another burst of rage because a mudblood took over a prestigious Ministry office. It was the weight of being split between right and wrong, and it was easy to be sure which one was which._

_"I don't understand. You never say anything when Father does it. Why am I different?" I said in a whining voice._

_Mother inhaled deeply and the words that would come out of her mouth sounded breathless and rushed._

_"Because you_ are _different, Dray... You are not your father. Do you hear me? You are not the same person. You have to think for yourself from now on."_

_In the rare cases that Mother was angry at me, she hardly ever let go this easily. But for now, she closed her arms around me tightly and for a long time; so long that the previously cold pearl necklace was now reaching the temperature of my skin. She only let me move when her eyes were dry again. Once more, she put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me directly in the eye._

_"You will be a good boy from now on, right Dray? Do you promise to be kind from now on? Do you promise to think for yourself?"_

_"Yes, Mummy..."_

_And so the fight was over. I was still disgusted whenever I saw the wrinkly and dirty Dobby sweeping the floors and replacing my towels, but I never hit him again. I would be lying if I said I didn't find it unfair. For the longest time, I felt like I was satisfying my mother's irrational requests._

* * *

I could have told her it was a bad time. I could have told her I was sick. Snape really did get me a special permission to abstain from classes for health reasons, so I could just stay put and sleep, wait for the next morning when I could look up my curses. But I _wanted_ to go to our elm tree. I _wanted_ to see her.

It was one of those nights when there is electricity in the air. It was a moment away from snowing and you could feel it in the wind. The trees were standing still, waiting for it. The lake was preparing herself by slowly freezing in its banks. Over us, there was no moonlight. The clouds were thick and, in the night, they seemed black.

We grabbed a fourth blanket and sat under layers. We were silent.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," said Ophelia. I wished there was moonlight. I wanted to see her autumn eyes clearly.

"Am I?" I raised my eyebrows.

I generally didn't have to lie a lot in her presence. It's ironic really; I was hiding things all the time. But we usually stayed away from difficult discussions. Years later, I know we were avoiding our truths or at least testing the waters before actually opening up. But as a result, I remember that the month of our friendship was free from heaviness. We just enjoyed being together; we just enjoyed getting to know each other. Thus, in her presence, my troubles weren't in my mind, so I easily forgot that I was constantly under a blanket of lies and acted casually.

It was different this time, and she was picking up on it.

"In what Ministry department did you say your father works?" I asked.

"Press and Communication's," she said, and there were traces of a question in her answer. "Why?"

"Nothing..." I answered heavily. She hadn't yet returned to her reading before I spoke again. "Is he on good terms with the Minster?"

"Well, I don't know if I should answer that. Why are you asking?" she asked.

I was found in some narrow corner. Maybe, if I changed the subject, she would get disorientated.

"How did he meet your mother?" I said, ignoring her question.

"At a disco. Seriously, what's with all the questions?"

"What is a disco?" I persisted.

"Err... Discos are places where the muggles go to dance."

Why would a wizard go to a place with so many muggles? I imagined these places were crowded - something like a party. Maybe we were right to have this man under observation. Maybe we would be right to take him out.

In a way, a mudblood is born with abilities without wanting it. The muggle parents are fully unaware of what their child is capable of. Their existence is involuntary. But these people choose to associate with muggles. Ophelia's father seemed to have chosen the life he led. He had chosen to give up on his kind.

"And that's where they met?" I asked.

"Yes, my mother used to bartend there at the weekends to help pay for college," she answered.

I remembered everything she had said about her mother. She had studied philosophy and led an outstandingly elegant life, yet she seemed to have an edge to her. Not every well-brought-up girl chose to bartend to help her family. I guess one had to be a bit wild in order to marry a wizard. I imagined Ophelia's mother much like her daughter; and Ophelia was classy but dark, well-mannered but with outbursts of humorous rudeness. She was a good girl, a bad girl and everything in between.

If Ophelia's mother was anything like Ophelia, then I couldn't put much blame on her father for falling in love with her.

"Why was your father in that disco, though?" I asked.

"Oh, he loved muggle music."

It was the side in Ophelia's character that was influenced more or less directly by her father. I imagined him as this laid-back man, the kind that is not satisfied by what only one world offers to him. I could see him slow dancing with a muggle stranger just because she looked stunning and this image wasn't very different from how I had met his daughter. He was the kind of man that collected muggle records from every genre of every decade with some preference to mellow blues and some 70s and 80s rock to break the deafening softness.

"Seriously, though, what is it?"

I didn't know where I was going to take this either. I didn't know why I was suddenly so interested.

"They sound really cool..." I admitted. Even the word 'cool' sounded foreign on my lips.

"They are!" said Ophelia cheerfully.

I looked down at my book; at least I had the excuse of reading to avoid her eyes.

"You know," she added, "if you'd like, you could maybe meet them."

"Your parents?" There was something entirely romantic - deeply, honestly, traditionally romantic - about 'meeting the parents', that intrigued every inch of me.

"Yes, they know all my friends."

A tiny fraction of me was disappointed. Even though I had erased every impossible scenario from my head, I had wished that in another world, they would meet me as a-

But then again, I remembered that by the end of that week, things would be entirely different. I didn't know how things would play out but there was a chance that my life would be totally changed, either for better or for worse.

"Errr... Okay?"

It was probably never going to happen anyway, so why not tell a small, little, white lie?

Ophelia seemed dissatisfied by my answer. I guessed she must have expected me to be a little more excited over meeting her parents, seeing her house, admiring their careful collection of books in their library, listen to all the old records her mother had kept from the 70s.

We returned to our own preoccupations. Ophelia turned a page.

"Ugh," she groaned. "Only a few pages left."

"Who are you always writing to?" I asked noisily and even as I said it, I realized I was becoming insufferable. I had some exhausted look on my face, like I was sick of her not telling me, even though it was only the first time I was asking her.

"None of your business," she answered. I hated it when people replied with phrases _I_ usually used.

"Are you writing to some muggle boyfriend of yours?" I asked. She looked up at me with a tired face. In the way she curled her eyebrows, it was obvious she must have thought I was crazy for asking this.

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't know, it sounds like a very 'Ophelia' thing to do. And you do know that talking about magic to a muggle is insanely illegal, don't you?"

"Only if you get caught," she answered at once, without the slightest bit of shame.

I stared, frozen, speechless. How did I allow myself to become friends with this traitor? How did I allow myself to become jealous in the thought of her having a muggle boyfriend? There were more important things to think about now. It was my duty to report her for her crimes. I didn't want to, but I had to give it a serious thought if I wanted to be a good wizard. Had she no shame? How dare she talk about her magical gifts to some muggle sum. How did she-

Laughter.

"You're so easy to lie to," she said with a giggle.

I closed the book in anger and since it was a paperback and fairly light, I hit her shoulder (or rather tapped it playfully, because I was still under the false impression that if I touched Ophelia with the slightest bit of force, she would break into a thousand pieces - and anyway, however much I aspired to be like my father, I was never a fan of hitting women).

"You liar! I believed you!" I shouted at her.

"You were asking for it. You were about to go all bloodist on me again," she said.

But then again, to whom might she be writing to? Our society was very closed indeed. What friend had she found outside of Hogwarts?

"Seriously, though, who are you always writing to?" I insisted. "Family?"

"Why do you want to know so badly?" she asked. She soon noticed that I was peeking over her notebook, so she shut it at once and frowned. "Hey!" she said. "Privacy, please!"

"Well..." I said slowly, "if you aren't going to tell me, I'm going to have to find out on my own."

She didn't see it coming. I grabbed the notebook off of her hands and hid it behind my back as she dived in to reclaim it.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Give that back. Right. Now."

I kept the notebook as far away from her as I could, holding it up whenever she made another effort to catch it, but since she was quite shorter than me (despite having outgrown the 5ft and 2in of her fourth year), she struggled to reach it.

I could feel her getting either angry or determined but she was still smiling widely, enjoying the game. In her constant fight to get her notebook back, she had thrown herself around me, trapped me between her legs, messed up my hair and clasped on my forearm. Yes, that right forearm was in pain, but I couldn't have ignored it quicker than when I felt Ophelia's hand on it. I was only hoping that she wouldn't add more pressure; I was afraid of the wounds reopening - and what would happen if I bled through my sweater?

I dived back on the blanket and laid on the notebook, applying as much weight as I could on my back. Ophelia followed; she laid on top of me and tried to feel her way to the notebook under me.

"I swear to God-" she chuckled.

"How very muggle of you..."

I was laughing again.

Her right hand was on my chest, where she supported herself; the left one was still hopelessly searching for the notebook that was squished behind my back; her face was so close to mine that I could clearly see her complexion flushing and turning red. A smart way to end this petty almost-fight would be to stop every motion and only hold her there; maybe touch her waist or face. But no. It was too soon. If we stayed like this for a little longer, just a little longer, maybe I would pluck up the courage. Now, all I wanted was to keep her on me as much as possible.

"Give it back!"

"Think you can hide things from me?" I shouted.

With that, some for her playfulness was lost from her face.

"I think that's quite enough," she said.

"I will now learn all your secrets!" I bellowed but then watched her smile slowly fade. She didn't respond to any motion that may have previously worked. She wasn't even ticklish anymore. That's where I should have stopped. But I wanted more; more of whatever it was that had happened during the last three minutes; more of that intimacy; more of that laughter.

"Okay, seriously, now," she said and she really _was_ serious. "Give it back now."

"Not before I have a read."

I revealed the notebook behind my back and opened a random page. I was hoping to land on one that mentioned the name of the receiver but I wasn't that lucky. I stood and ran away from her. She jumped up at once and caught up quickly.

"' _Harry, Ron and George lit up a fire in the back yard and Hermione and Ginny brought the marshmallows-'_ Oh, how sweet! Please, tell me this letter ends with Potter crying about how much his life sucks!" I scoffed.

"Okay, now you're pushing it a tad too far, don't you think?" When Ophelia made another attempt to snatch the book, so I held it over my head and watched the anger rise on her head. But I was in too deep now.

" _'I miss you so much! I wish I could go back to my fourth year and talk to you more-"_

"Malfoy!" shouted Ophelia.

" _'I walked by your place on my way to the tube and I noticed that it's already been sold-'_ "

"Draco..." I ignored her now low-pitched voice

" _I regret not stopping by the Academy or at least Mrs Petrova's. Summer classes wouldn't be the same and I am not in a hurry to revisit those places. I think they would remind me of you and only you, so I wouldn't last long anyway. I miss you so-"_

"Dray!"

I froze.

I looked down at her and her eyes were glistening. Why was she ready to cry?

"What?"

Ophelia snatched her opportunity. Now that she had my attention and I had loosened my grasp on the book, she simply pulled out her wand.

"Accio!" she said.

The notebook flew into her hands. For a moment, she stared. Maybe she was expecting me to say something first, but as always, Ophelia wasn't big for waiting.

"You know, you don't have to be an arse all the bloody time," she shouted.

"Why? What's the big deal?" I shrugged and let out a burst of laughter but when I met her infuriated look, I knew there was no brushing over my indecency.

"This is personal," she said. You knew that Ophelia was mad at you when she maintained a cold-calmness while speaking.

"Personal _how_?" I asked.

I had been an arse for many months. Every other day we had an argument about our ideologies. She had called me a bloodist more times than I cared to admit. But although she could have stood up and left, done with my idealism, she never had. She would turn to her notebook and I would turn to some book; and so the night went on. The anger blew out and we enjoyed each other's silence.

But no. This time, she really got up and left. I watched her collecting her muggle pen and cassette player.

"Ophelia!"

I grabbed a shoulder and spun her around.

"What!" she demanded.

But when I saw her glistening eyes, I was simply unable to either move or speak. If one cell was pushing me towards talking to her, it was saying that I should apologize, for whatever crime I had committed by reading her notebook. That cell was telling me to hold her so that she wouldn't cry.

I was a coward. A pathetic coward. Everyone called me so and it was in moments such as these that I believed it as well.

And so she vanished.

In the emptiness of the meadow, nature threw its first white, light flakes for the winter. I looked up and now the snowflakes appeared to be falling so fast that it was easy to feel attacked.

In the still of the night, I sat in the middle of the meadow and waited for Ophelia to come back. I imagined her appearing like a dark spot in the whiteness of it all. Some things were sure; she would have her hair in a braid and she would be wearing some chunky sweater. Some things were less sure; she would be halfhearted and she would forgive my rudeness in a blink of an eye. But she never returned, so the snowfall watched an idiot wait in vain.

* * *


	24. Notebook

D

I twisted and turned in my bed. Blaise was lightly snoring in his part of the room and although it usually didn't bother me much, I felt my head sore and throbbing. The tap in the bathroom was slightly leaking and drops of water hit the white porcelain every couple of seconds. As the heater in the centre of the room burned on, the coals inside it made a crackling noise whenever they hit against the metal. Every minuscule, discreet sound seemed to be thumping loudly against my eardrums.

In my insomnia, I decided to remember my way through the few things that I'd read in the notebook. I didn't bother convincing myself to only think of them once. I was sick of pretending that my mind was as disciplined as my behaviour.

In the few lines that I'd read, there was no mention of magic. This left me with the possibility that the receiver could be a muggle. Yet, this didn't rule out anything yet. I might as well had stumbled on a dry page. For all I knew, she could be writing to a wizard or a witch.

I had stumbled on two quotes where Ophelia proclaimed how much she missed the person she was writing to. This fueled me with some inexplicable anger. She had also mentioned something about 'our fourth year'. This mere line had raised another idea in my head. When I thought about our fourth year, all I could think of was the Triwizard Tournament. Somehow, in my twisted mind, it made sense that maybe Ophelia had met a friend in the year of the Tournament. Who knew, maybe she had kept in contact with that friend. The more I thought about the possibility of her having some hulky Durmstrang pen pal in Eastern Europe, the more I wanted to somehow devise a plan of burning the Durmstrang school to the ground.

The anger stayed in my mind for long enough, until I dived deeper into my memories. She wrote that she didn't want to go to 'the Academy' or 'Mrs Petrova's'. I could only imagine these were her old ballet schools. I was more at ease now. It seemed more reasonable that she had a childhood muggle friend back in London, and since ballet was a primarily girly hobby of the muggle world, there were more possibilities for the addressee to be a muggle girl.

Then again, Ophelia had just been accepted to a prestigious ballet academy and I was sure this professional institution sought many male dancers as well. In my sleepless mind, this seemed like the perfect explanation – why she never seemed to have a shred of more-than-friendly emotion for me. In my mind, things were as obvious as they were apparent. Muggle or not, Ophelia was sure to have somehow found herself in a relationship and it didn't matter whether it was a Durmstang boy or some fit dancer. She was taken and certainly not mine.

I saw her right before my eyes; she was dancing. She was a fairy or some white creature of the deep forests. A man behind her was holding her waist and lifting her in the air like she was no more than a feather in the wind. Suddenly she was a swan; a white, elusive swan, hovering over a silver lake – her prince was in love. He landed her on a pointed shoe just in time for a delicate _pirouette_ and then the man knelt before her graciously. They were both flawless in their movements; the countless, late-night rehearsals must have paid off. He held her hand as Ophelia dived forward, extending her leg behind her back. As her leg reached up towards the skies, the man got closer and closer. As she completed her perfect pose, he lightly pressed his lips on hers. The theatre below them raged in applause and the two dancers retrieved from the stage. The prince had won her over.

I shook my head to get the image out of my mind but it was persistent and whenever it disappeared, it gave its place to other, more devastating thoughts.

 _I miss you so much,_ she had said. Even the slightest chance that she was missing some male friend sickened me. Why couldn't she miss me instead? Maybe that other guy was better, smarter, more handsome, more of everything. Who could have known that while I was counting my words and moves around her, she had some other man in her mind all along?

I felt stupid; stupid and insane that I thought highly enough of myself to entertain the idea that she might have half a romantic feeling for me. I was getting ahead of myself. I was used to girls liking me without much effort. I thought Ophelia was the same, and that was my greatest mistake because Ophelia could never be like the others.

Oh, why hadn't I opened the notebook to a page where Ophelia had started a letter? I wish I knew the name of the man that was my enemy.

* * *

And then, if you really think about it, I would either be dead or a celebrated Death Eater by the end of the week. She would eventually hate me anyway. So what did I have to lose?

* * *

I watched her carefully for the next couple of days – or at least more carefully than when I was sneaking peeks during classes or meals. Even though I wasn't there to watch her during classes (I was spending all my mornings in the library after a week-long permission by Snape so I would work on my plan), I noticed that she usually wrote during both lunch and dinner. By Merlin, the girl never parted with that leather brown notebook.

I watched her every move, I thought of every possible scenario. There was only one chance that I might get my hands on it without her noticing it was gone.

It was Wednesday night and the Slytherin Common Room was finally empty and silent. Maya would be sleeping with Blaise again, so I had casually camped on the couch and counting the minutes. Usually, on the frequent occasion of the couple sleeping together, Ophelia and I would go on one of our late night walks. But she never showed up. It wasn't very late but after an hour of watching the staircase and admitting that she wouldn't appear after my clumsy movements last time, I concluded that she was sleeping.

I walked up the stairs carefully, cautiously; I had to accustom myself to not making any noise. I had only been outside her dorm once, on a rainy night during which I was more occupied with the sheerness of her white, wet, transparent shit, so I was somehow afraid that I would open the wrong door.

The hinges creaked and I had to silence them with a spell. I opened the door. The dorm was empty but I was sure I had the right room (a chunky green sweater was laying on the feet of the table and the room was heavily perfumed with the smell of coffee and sugar). As if for a confirmation, Alaska appeared from under the untouched bed. Where was Ophelia?

I walked inside soundlessly. With every step I took, I could hear the splashing of water clearer and clearer. Through the open bathroom door, came the smell of her shampoo, the smell of her hair, a scent I had only sniffed on the rare occasion that she put her hair down to reform her braid or when she was standing too close.

I peeked through the bathroom door. Through the steam and humidity, I could see her school uniform, lazily lying on the floor. I imagined her taking everything off soothingly while she tested the water. Off with the green tie and the uncomfortable shoes. Off with the grey sweater and the matching skirt. Off with the underwear. They were not matching. The bra was beige and the panties were light blue. I was sure that she must have undone her hair before hopping in the shower.

I wanted to bang my head against the wall but that would be loud and clumsy. I closed my eyes and shook my head. Alaska approached me for a pet. When I ignored her, the creature whimpered and cried loudly while tugging on my shoe. I obliged and scrubbed her back to silence her.

It was the wrong time. She could come out at any time. I had planned on snatching the notebook while she was sleeping and read it overnight. Now, if she wanted to write something down after her shower or before going to sleep, she would notice its absence.

But it was there – it was right there; laying on her bedside table next to a crooked alarm, messy pile of old tapes and a picture of her and her parents. For the first time, it was within reach. It was right in front of me.

I knew what I would do was wrong, so I took a step back from my original plan. I would just read who she was writing to and that would be all.

How could I have passed up the chance? How could I have said no to the temptation? I had already regretted and repented, so what did it matter if I sneaked a peek? And it was right there, right in front of me.

When I touched the notebook, my fingers tingled and went numb. There was magic in this notebook and there was no doubt about it. I assumed that she had put a magic lock on it but when I opened it to check how secretive Ophelia was willing to get, the notebook didn't resist or make any unusual noise.

And this easily, I had the notebook open in front of me for the first time in my life. How could I not read it if I had come so far?

_August 20th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

When I read a woman's name, I was finally at ease. I wouldn't read more. I promised myself. I was ready to go, ready to disappear and act like I was never there. My curiosity had been satisfied and I had had enough. I was a good person; I was not going to intrude in her space further.

But I recognized the date. It was the day we had met – or at least the time when she remembered we first met.

_...I had never expected to see someone like Draco Malfoy in a muggle museum. When I first saw him, I completely lost it..._

I smiled. She had paid enough attention to me to write about me.

This was enough. I had enough. I now knew that she was writing to a mere friend and that she had taken notice of me before we even became friends. What more would I need to satisfy my inquisitiveness?

But it was right there, right in my hands. Ophelia was still relaxing in her hot shower. The water hadn't stopped running and it was probably loud in her ears. She wouldn't hear a page turn. I would be as silent as a ghost. I would be quick and no one would know I was here. I only wanted to read one more thing. Now that my primary fears had disappeared, I wanted to check one more thing. One more thing to prove her worth as a person, as a witch.

_...I think about all our memories together. Those carefree summer days and ballet sessions. Remember when we begged Mrs Petrova for the keys for the classroom so that we could practice on Sundays? We couldn't get the pointe shoes off, and we bled so much that day but we did manage to nail our triple pirouettes. I miss those days..._

I closed my eyes and tried to reclaim the details of my memories. Ophelia said she was at her happiest when she was training to become a ballerina. She and her best friend were both going to become ballerinas. It was Margot, it was her muggle friend.

Now there was only one more thing I needed to know, one more detail I wanted to clarify if I wanted to set this notebook aside forever. I needed to know.

_September 14th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_It was one of these times when you wake up and smile for some unknown reason..._

It was the day after our first late-night walk. The smile came in my face again. Maybe there was some foolish hope.

_October 23rd, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_It is your birthday today and I wish we were together. Sometimes I feel like however many friends I make, or however much I might start liking a very certain boy, the space that was left empty when we stopped being friends will never be filled by someone else. I still think that the universe deals you only a certain amount of friendship and you have to use it correctly. I have already used my amount on you..._

Ophelia was the greatest mystery of my life. When you unlocked her, all you could find was yet another secret, yet another hallow in her entity.

But this was not what I wanted to read; it was not what I was searching for. I flicked the pages for any trace of magic, any detailed mention of Ophelia's life here in Hogwarts. Just how much was she sharing about her life?

_November 1st, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_Sometimes I think how my life would be, had I not turned out to be a witch. I wonder if we would have ended up working for the Royal Opera House together and became real ballerinas instead of whatever it is each of us is doing right now. I like to think that in another life, we are still dancing together..._

"What the hell?"

I turned around, notebook on hand. Angry, fuming, mad and livid – and so was Ophelia.

I would have taken the time to suck in her beauty; dripping wet, wrapped in a green towel, her hair finally not in a braid. But that was a notion for some other time.

"You blood-traitor," I said flatly. "You sleazy, filthy, little half-blood."

"Excuse me?" she asked raising her eyebrows to the heavens. Then she sprang towards me and grabbed the notebook at once. "What the hell are you doing with my notebook?" she demanded. This time, she wasn't ready to cry, she was ready to lose it.

"Do you want to explain to me why you're writing to a filthy muggle? It is illegal to reveal our nature to muggles! I am going to report you! I am going to make sure you face conviction for your actions! By Merlin, if Father wasn't in Azkaban, I would get you expelled so quickly it would make your head spin-"

"What are you talking about, Malfoy!"

I was Malfoy again, and acting like it.

"This is _my_ notebook. My _very personal_ notebook! I told you not to touch it! You had no right to even lay a hand on it. I'm not even going to mention the fact that you are in my room in the middle of the night. You little creep! What did you read?" she bellowed.

"What does it matter?" I was going to win this argument no matter how many of her points I had to brush over.

But then, she erupted. It was expecting less of her and that was not the reason why I jolted back in fear. It was the sheer way she would erupt.

"TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT YOU SAW!"

Her face was completely and utterly red. Her eyes were no exception, yet there were no tears. I thought I saw the hazel eyes turn coal-black and offensive. It was a rare sight and I was terrified.

It was the one and only time I would see Ophelia in a state of frenzy. But no! – not the one and only time.

"I saw enough!" I shouted back. "Who is this Margot? Who is this muggle?"

"IT IS NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!"

"Oh my God," I said, suddenly in realization.

A rare exclamation for a wizard and one I had adopted from her. It suited the occasion perfectly.

"Is she..." I squinted. "Is she your girlfriend?"

It did make sense for a split second. It could explain why she was always writing to her.

Ophelia never replied to my comment, never even acknowledged it – which made it all the more suspicious.

"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING ROOM!" she screeched.

She pushed me violently, opened the door widely with her wand.

"OUT!" she bellowed, although I wasn't showing much resistance. "DON'T YOU EVER TALK TO ME AGAIN!"

I wanted to frantically bang on her door. I wanted to shout her name out. Then again, that would be such a hopelessly romantic thing to do and the thought sickened me as much as it would sicken her.

I lingered in the empty, cold corridor for many long minutes. I was trying to detect any sound from within the room. She never kicked on the wall the way I definitely would. She didn't put out her nerves on her. I never even heard her bed move. There was no indication that Ophelia had even moved from her spot.

I returned to the couch. I wouldn't wait for her to come after me. I wouldn't wait for her to open the door and find me waiting. I kicked the pillows in the right place.

I had nothing to explain to a worthless muggle-lover. Merlin knew what was holding me back from reporting her crimes to the proper authorities. How dare she act like I was the one who was at wrong here? I had my suspicions and I wanted to confirm them. Sneaking in her room and reading her letters was not the most honest way to do so; I could admit that. But it was worth it. Discovering her crimes was worth my corruption. Who could blame me for acting in the name of our nature, in the name of our world?

No wonder why she was always hiding her notebook or carrying tightly on her chest. It was obvious now. She kept a muggle pen pal (maybe even girlfriend) and telling her all about her life! No wonder she was always hiding that she was breaking our world's most sacred law.

I twisted and turned.

I would pause everything I would do. I would even pause my mission if possible. I would do everything within my power to take this notebook as proof of her unlawfulness. Maybe I could simply and easily stun her. I could return to her room right at this moment, where I could catch her off guard.

My mischievousness had transformed into a blessing right before my eyes and the few drops of guilt in my blood had turned into vengeance.

Yes. Yes, I was proud. I couldn't be prouder. My Father would be proud of me as well.

A pause of thoughts.

_"Can you honestly tell me that you have maintained a healthy friendship with anyone you met at your muggle elementary school?"_ I could hear my voice loud and clear, as if I were speaking right now.

 _"Well, I didn't have friends in school, to be honest."_ The colour of her voice had the blue tint of memories.

 _"What about that friend you've mentioned. The one from ballet classes? Do you mean to tell me you keep in contact with her?"_ I had asked.

Pause.

_"No, not anymore."_

Pause.

She was always writing in a notebook.

She never sent those letters out to Margot.

 _Shit_.

* * *

She wouldn't forgive this.

I had put all my effort into never changing my approach to her. It was a fragile friendship from the beginning; one that moved in the shadows, in the dark of the night. I didn't want to ruin whatever we had.

And yet consciously never asked for more. For one month, I went to bed satisfied merely by the fact that I had someone to talk to, someone with whom I could forget whatever shit was happening in my life. That satisfaction walked hand in hand with fear; the more you have, the more you have to lose. And so I begged whoever was watching this shitshow for things would stay the same.

I never minded having less of Ophelia, if that meant that I would have at least some of her.

Now I had none of her.


	25. Orchestra

𝐎

_November 8th, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_Remember when we used to pull all-nighters? We used to have full nights of studying but we still had to wake up at 5.30 to get to our morning ballet class. Well, I feel like I had a month of that, give or take. A month and a half, wasted on him!_

_I am therefore going to call the period from September 27th to November 4th an official all-monther._

_Yes, I am fully aware that this word hardly qualifies as a joke but, hey, I have to make do with the last millilitre of humour that is left in me._

_I am sorry I didn't write for two days. I will make up for that tonight because I feel like the past couple of days were extremely eventful even for Hogwarts standards..._

By the time Draco left my room on Wednesday night, the snowfall resumed. It had been snowing on and off for a couple of days now. Everything was getting frozen around us but the snow was never enough to bury Hogwarts under its thick, white blanket.

I started out of the window. Here in the dungeons, there are only a handful of windows that can see to the outside. Two-thirds of the stained glass were under the waters of the Black Lake, which was already frozen a few inches deep. I stayed silent and I watched the snow fall on the ice and dangerously pile on it.

I didn't want to move. I was afraid that if I did, I would crack broken. I would have wanted to shout but oddly, I felt I had released and defused a good chunk of my tension when I had ordered Draco to get out of my room.

So, now, I wanted some silence. I hate the busy thoughts that anger produces. I prefer the silent presence of grief.

... _Who is Margot, he asked. I hadn't heard your name being spelt out loud in such a long time, Margot, and I needed time to adjust..._

Alaska approached me after what seemed like hours. I was still in my towel and cold, standing on a small puddle of water. I had dripped dried on the floor. Alaska played with the towel to get my attention. She sank her claws on the soft textile and tried to climb on me softly, as if she wanted to wake me up gently. She used to do that when she was still a kitten and she knew I could never resist it.

I ignored her, laid on the bed and slept. I didn't even wear my pyjamas. I just needed to rest my mind.

Firstly, I slept through my Thursday. I told everyone I was sick and stayed in bed. It seems that my schedule was so messed up that I automatically woke up at midnight, the time when I would normally go downstairs to meet him. But I went back to sleep and thankfully, it wasn't hard to do so.

I sped through Friday, sleepy and sedated, and tried to catch up on my studies during my free period. It seemed easier to study now that I was getting some more sleep.

During lunch, I collected my books and decided to have a quiet lunch at the Slytherin table. Part of me wanted to avoid any place where I would see Malfoy. Another part was tempted to provocatively sit with Harry and Ron in order to catch his attention. I forbid myself to do that. I wasn't going to let myself make decisions based on him. I went on with my lunch as if nothing had happened.

He was sitting only a few seats away from me and wasn't eating. He had my copy of _The Great Gatsby_ with him and was quietly reading. I had to find a way to get that copy back. He didn't deserve to read my mother's books. I was going to think about that later but the notion of sneaking into his room to steal my book back didn't seem like an irrational option. He had done worse.

He had sneaked in and had stolen my memories. At least, _I_ would steal something that was rightfully mine. This was _my_ Gatsby; my blue- morose -and-haunting-eyes cover Gatsby. 

The anger returned, so I drew a long breath. Oxygen helped with anger. It was a decision that should be made with a clear head.

I opened my Potion's book and started studying. I had to learn the recipe we were currently studying by heart. Snape used to make us write the recipes by hand to help commit them to memory and it was a habit that had stayed with me even after he had moved on from his post as a Potion's teacher. However, writing the same recipe again and again was a boring task and now that I had settled in my spot and relaxed by the warmth of the fireplace that was burning nearby, my eyes were heavy and closing again.

I rested my head on the book and tried to empty my head, notice the noises around me in the Great Hall. The fire was crackling behind me, the silverware was clinking on the plates, the Hufflepuffs were laughing while playing cards. Draco flipped a page.

"Miss Blackthorn!"

I jolted up and scrubbed my eyes to see who was calling. It must have been a teacher, because who else would call me 'Miss Blackthorn'? Professor Slughorn was towering over me and looking down with a wide smile, amused to see me fresh from sleep.

"I am very sorry to disturb your nap! Are you sure that your Potions' book is a comfortable enough pillow?" he said with the sole intention to amuse and not offend.

Professor Slughorn could certainly be awkward around students and staff members alike. For him, chit-chatting was a lighthearted game of chess or checkers. He always made a relieving and blithe joke and then transferred his weight from one leg to another, anxiously waiting for the other player's own contribution to the small talk. He seemed lonely. No other professor was befriending him. It could have been because of his long absence since he last taught in this school but I was suspecting that everyone found him bizarre or out of place. I was not a stranger to the feeling, and although I could hardly contain a cringed face when he made his almost funny jokes, I tried to be polite and friendly. He just wanted to talk to someone.

"Professor! I am sorry, I didn't mean to sleep here! I was just-"

"Oh, not to worry! I remember when I was your age and preparing for my N.E.W.T. exams! I hardly slept either! But you needn't worry or neglect your sleep! I am surely flattered enough that you are studying Potions even during your lunch hours!" Every sentence was spelt with a profound excitement that soon became, in one word, wholesome.

"I feel terrible for missing your class yesterday, Professor. I was trying to catch up," I said.

"Oh, do not fret! Your roommate told us you were terribly sick! One single class isn't going to spare you your EE! I am sure you will catch up in no time! You can tell your friend Potter to fill you in what we covered yesterday – he is becoming somewhat of Potions' genius!"

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," I answered.

"Well, Miss Blackthorn, my invitation to my supper party still stands! I imagine you can take an afternoon off from studying to join us at dinner next Saturday!"

"I'll be very happy to, sir!' I said.

Slughorn left with an absentminded beam while humming an old song.

When he was out of my peripheral vision I growled and dropped my forehead on my open book in fatigue or rather in tribute to the tedium of a supper party. I had secretly reserved the empty afternoons that lay ahead for sweatpants and snacks over open books. If I could avoid human contact for a few weeks, maybe I would find my old self again and go on with my life.

"Oh, to have a Galleon every time a teacher favours someone because of their parents..."

Malfoy had brought his cup near his mouth to hide that he was talking to me. He wasn't even glancing sideways and was speaking through his teeth.

"I don't think you're the best person to make this remark. If _I_ had a Galleon every time you've brought your Father up, I would be richer than him," I said through narrowed eyes and a mean face. I returned to my textbook.

"Your nasty self is back, I see," he said pleased and satisfied.

"It never left; you just happened not to be its object of interest for two regrettable seconds."

"Try 'for every single night for a month'."

He sounded proud of this retort but his tone was hiding his urge and yearning. He liked this month, that was sure enough. I kept my calm and denied giving him the pleasure of fighting with him.

"Does that mean that we are going back to hating each other?" he asked after a long pause, which only proved my point further: he liked that month-long friendship.

"God, you're slow. I thought it was pretty obvious when I told you never to speak to me again," I answered strictly.

"You're not going to last a week."

His voice was reeking self-satisfaction and smugness; I was lost.

It was the only time that he would lay his eyes on me. He only did so without fully turning his face to mine. It was obvious that he was masking our conversation by speaking through a semi-closed mouth. But with what he had dared to say, he _had_ to look at me. How else was he going to send the clear message that he firmly believed I had suffered a great loss by ending our friendship? And then, of course, if he hadn't turned to look at me through these cloudy, smoky eyes, how else was he going to undermine the existence of this friendship at all – or better yet, imply the existence of something more than a friendship?

He does this only when he is attacking, only when he knows he has the higher ground – which raised a heap of questions in my head. Why, despite his obvious mistakes, did he have the upper hand at the moment? Why, despite my defences, did he seem to be enjoying provoking me? There were clear lines here; he was the one who had caused this friendship to break up. He was the one who had invaded my privacy and compromised my trust. He was the one in wrong. Why was he acting otherwise?

I realized Draco thrives in any situation where he is clearly the bad guy.

"Your silence is my answer. Glad we agree."

I came back from my thoughts and was suddenly enraged.

"I didn't agree; I was just searching for the right swearword. But seriously, the only thing that comes up is a simple 'fuck you'." I took my time, turned to look at him, stared at him right in the eye and spoke. "Fuck you!"

I must have said this a tad too loud. A couple of eyes turned our way but were soon to ignore the incidence. It isn't a rare occasion for Draco to be insulting a half-blood and it isn't a rare case for him to be caught in a profane argument.

Draco raised his cup to his lips again and hid a chuckle.

I was about to erupt when Harry and Ron entered my peripheral vision. It wasn't the right time to expose that I had anything to do with Draco Malfoy. Instead, I acted casually as they approached my spot on the Slytherin table.

It wasn't unusual for every other house to be hosting students from other houses as well. The Gryffindors often sat with the Hufflepuffs and the Hufflepuffs seemed to have developed many friendships with the relatively silent Ravenclaws. But no one from other Houses frequented the Slytherin table, so Harry and Ron only stood beside me and greeted. I wished I could have seen Draco's reaction to our visitors.

"Hello, Ophelia!" said Ron and lowered down to give me one of his tight hugs. Again, he knew I wasn't a fan of physical touch, yet, I hadn't had the opportunity to talk to him in almost a week and this was his way of showing that he missed me. I craved to see Draco's reaction to this hug as well. I was progressively missing out on Draco's jealous eyes due to my pure persistence to avoid him.

"Well, well, well! How is the new Gryffindor Keeper feeling today? Congratulations! I knew you were going to make it!" I said.

"Thank you! It was so crazy! You should have seen me, though! We didn't see you in the trials last Sunday! You said you would come!" Ron was radiating victorious energy and seemed to be pleased with his accomplishments. As a Slytherin, I would have maintained my excitement until the first match before I lost my head.

"I know, Ron... I'm so sorry. It's been a crazy week and I've been falling behind on my studies and-"

"Don't worry about it. But I hope we see you at the first Gryffindor game. It's on the first Saturday of December so clear your schedule."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Harry hadn't spoken much yet. He was smiling, but I caught him looking over his shoulder. He was never comfortable when Draco was so close nearby. He was making all sorts of scenarios nowadays about what he might be up to. From spying to secret Death Eater meetings, Harry didn't rule out any possible case.

"Ophelia, we have a proposition for tonight that I think might interest you," he leaned in and whispered.

"I'm listening..."

"Karaoke."

"Karaoke?" Although Harry, Hermione and I were familiar with this kind of entertainment, I doubted it was very popular with the wizards. The closest thing I had seen to it in the wizarding world was the hovering words spell professor Flitwick used during choir practices to help the singers with their rhythm.

"It was Hermione's idea," said Ron.

"We sneaked into the Room of Requirements and found all these instrumental versions of famous songs. Last night, we figured out a way to make the lyrics show up on the wall and Hermione is working on synchronizing them without having to use a spell each time. It's going to be fun!"

"Guys, that's brilliant but I think I'll have to pass this time. You can't imagine how tired I am. I feel like I haven't slept in ages..."

Of course, I couldn't tell them that I was also expecting my period in the next couple of hours according to the frequency and volume of my menstrual cramps.

"Oh, come on! We won't stay up all night because we are going to Hogsmeade in the morning," said Ron.

"Come on, Ophelia! This is the only chance for you to listen to Ron singing _Never Gonna Give You Up_."

"It truly is the coolest muggle song I've ever heard," said Ron thoughtfully.

"You make it very tempting but I really need my sleep at the moment. I can't go on living off of three cups of coffee every day... Is today the only day it can happen?"

"We have a Quidditch practice on Sunday morning so, yes, this is our only chance. Come on! It will be fun!"

I was on the verge of changing my mind. I had taken too long of a break from my usual hangouts in the Gryffindor Common Room and I had missed all of them. Neville was progressively lonely these days and Hermione was sure that our morning routine of studying at the library before breakfast was becoming a bit too much for me. Then again, I was never again going to lose sleep for late-night poetry readings, so why did it matter if I rejoined my friends on a karaoke night. I had all weekend to sleep as long as I needed.

"I think Blackthorn was clear enough the first time she said no."

The voice came from behind us. Malfoy had not raised his eyes to look at us but he had intervened none the less. He had stiffened his jaw in a harsh angle and was already clumping his fists.

"Who asked for your opinion, Malfoy?" Ron was the first to speak up.

"It's always interesting when Potter tries to get his way without taking a no for an answer."

"You creep! Were you overhearing us this whole time?" said Harry at once.

"I've learned from the best, Potter," he answered calmly, hinting at the train incident.

It was true, Harry had been following Malfoy around for two months now and he was the least suitable person to lecture Malfoy about invasion. Maybe Malfoy had picked up on this unusual behaviour. On the other hand, he had proved that he was the most invasive and prying person I knew, so I wouldn't dare complain when Harry called him out on his indecent acts.

"Why don't you shut your mouth?' said Harry and tried to turn his focus back to us. "What a creep, am I right?"

"Why don't you lecture us about something that you don't do yourself? Then again, I wouldn't recognize you if you weren't defending your double standards with exemplary obstinacy. It's not a proper Potter incident without a bit of unfairness."

"This is a laugh riot. I am being lectured on justice by a Malfoy," said Harry and gave out a burst of laughter.

Malfoy stood slowly.

"What was that?"

"Aren't all your relatives either in jail or criminals? Don't you trip muggleborns if they dare cross your path? What do _you_ know about justice? What do _you_ know about what's fair and what's not?"

Sirius' name was hovering in the air between them. They both knew what this was about but neither of them bothered to admit it. Malfoy's aunt was the woman who had killed Harry's godfather. To Harry, listening to Malfoy talking about fairness was an insult by itself.

"Oh, I see what this is..." said Malfoy and tilted his head sideways. "It's Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the defender of justice, the celebrity, the star of the show, always in pain, always hurt, always a slave of the terrible fate that is to be him. I am not sure I can handle any more attention-seeking grief. I might puke."

Harry was now making slow, aggressive steps towards Malfoy. He narrowed his eyes but Malfoy only sank his hands in the pockets of his black trousers and seemed to be enjoying Harry's anger. He smirked – the smirk that made me shudder.

"That's bold coming from Draco Malfoy, the rich boy, the bloodist, always the victim of injustice, always running behind his father like a little puppy."

The smirk was lost from Malfoy's face when Harry mentioned his father. He was frozen in place, his hand retrieved from his pockets, he was suddenly waiting for the right time to attack. Harry and Malfoy stood, with blood pumping quickly through their veins.

"Let me guess, Malfoy; your father is going to hear about this," Harry impersonated. "Of course! You wouldn't have the balls to deal with me yourself anyway. Slytherins... Cowards!"

"Harry!" I said at once, not to defend Malfoy but rather prevent him from provoking his rival any further.

Harry had managed to keep his hot-blooded Gryffindor spirit in check until then but now he was well aware that he was infuriating Malfoy with each insult. Harry knew by pure instinct that if he mentioned his father, Malfoy would react.

I saw Malfoy's eyes turning to ice, cold, black ice.

"What did you just say?" said Malfoy, his nostrils flaring and his lip curling. He wasn't going to back off now. He made an intimidating step.

A few Slytherins had gathered around us to see the spectacle of the Chosen One fighting the son of a Death Eater. Other students were now slowly approaching to see where the fire had erupted this time.

"I said you're a coward. A coward like your father. Do you know what he did right before Sirius stunned him? He raised his hands in fear. He gave up! I would expect no less from his son."

"Harry, come on..." Ron put a hand on Harry's chest and tried to pull him away but Harry only flicked his robe.

"You say one more word about my father and by Merlin-" said Malfoy.

"Guys... Can we act like adults, please?" I stepped between both of them, shielding Harry and staring Malfoy right in his eyes. I thought that this would remind him to behave but Malfoy was too focused on his task and quickly pushed me aside, almost painfully.

"One more word? Let me choose one carefully. Vile and pathetic Death Eater. An abusive, bloodist maniac that deserves every minute of his life sentence. A criminal."

You know that a wizard is truly and utterly furious when his first response is the primal one of a fistfight. Malfoy was the first one to punch.

His fist flew in the air and hit Harry right in the eye, smashing his round glasses and swelling his left side. Next came Harry's violent response. From then on, chaos erupted in the Great Hall. Students from all Houses came either to help separate the two boys or just watch them in excitement or fear. Some Gryffindors were cheering while the Hufflepuffs were pushing their way to the centre of the fight to attempt to drag either of them away from the other.

In this chaos, I was pushed to back violently by the screaming crowd and was left struggling to squeeze my way to the front.

When I was able to see Harry again, it was apparent that his nose was broken again and bleeding. Malfoy's eye was bruised as well and his lip was cut.

I pushed myself between them and my presence was somewhat pacifying to both of them. Harry would never risk hurting me for the sake of another punch. Even Malfoy, who had ignored me in my first attempt to prevent this fight, seemed to have been looking at me with something that resembled regret. He was now somehow restrained.

Every shed of effort to start the fighting again was interrupted when Professor McGonagall advanced from the back of the Great Hall. She had rushed to out place in no time when she'd seen a fight breaking out near the Slytherin Table. She looked furious as she placed herself next to me, between the fighters.

"Mr Potter! Mr Malfoy! I want some answers from both of you!" she said, with the commanding voice that always called for respect and fear.

But the two of them were now looking down in embarrassment.

"I thought we had set this grudge aside this year! I am listening!"

Malfoy wiped some blood that was running from the corner of his mouth. His sleeve instantly turned black.

"Well?" asked Professor McGonagall impatiently. "Miss Blackthorn!" she ordered. "What happened here?"

"Well... I'm not quite sure where to begin..."

"Never mind that... Mr Weasley, please, escort Potter to the Hospital Wing. And..." she looked around, possibly to find Blaise but when she didn't find him anywhere near, she turned back to me. "Miss Blackthorn, you can handle Mr Malfoy. After that, I expect to see both of you in my office," she said, throwing eyes back and forth between Harry and Malfoy. "Or better still, you can go straight to the Headmaster's office. Now, everyone, Back to your seats. Clear this place at once!" she ordered and stormed out of the Great Hall.

Harry had a sprained ankle, so he had to be partially supported by Ron as they walked away.

I, then, looked at Malfoy unwillingly and rolled my eyes when he slightly tilted his head back to make it seem as if he was looking at me from above. His face might have been smoky with the bruises on it but at the time, I was outwardly repulsed by how much he was prominently showing his toughness – or by how easily it was working on me.

"How bad is it?" he said and acted indifferent about my answer.

"You look like the brute you are."

"So, it suits me?"

I snorted jadedly and gave him yet another roll of eyes.

"Come on, then..." I nodded towards the exit.

"I don't need to go to the Hospital Wing. It's just a scratch."

"I don't take orders from you. I do from McGonagall. We are both unlucky that I was nearby. Now, come on!"

"Why would I need an escort?"

"Who tells me that you're not going to start a fight in the Hospital Wing? Are you going to come, or am I wasting my time on you again?"

He unwillingly obliged. We followed Ron and Harry from afar and I was careful to keep a safe distance between our two parties. Malfoy kept his gaze focused a few yards away from us; on Harry's back.

"Can you tell me what the hell you were thinking?" I whispered as we went up the stairs.

"You heard the way he talked about my father," he suggested casually.

I was not going to get into the details of his wrong mindset. If I had learned anything about Malfoy, it was that there was no reasoning with him when it came to his father. He had this contradicting relationship with him. Sometimes Malfoy seemed to opposite him entirely; other times he seemed to worship everything he touched, said or was.

"I am not talking about that. Why did you have to talk to Harry in the first place?"

"You seemed to not be interested in their proposal," he said casually. "It shows when you're excited about something and when you're not. If you don't say yes at once, you are probably not interested. I didn't like that they were pressuring you. They should just leave you alone."

"Since when have you been ordained as my defender?"

"Don't flatter yourself. This fight was not about you," he said in a cold-calm voice.

"It sure started this way!"

"You're becoming as self-centred as your friend, Blackwood."

"Blackthorn!" I yelled.

Ron and Harry turned around to inspect where the screech was coming from. Harry gave Malfoy a grim stare. I think he wished to see him somehow attacking me so that he could start the fight again but all he saw was Malfoy and I walking silently. Ron grabbed Harry's shoulder and turned him around again.

With the corner of my eye, I could see Malfoy desperately trying to contain a smile.

"Do you know that I don't like your last name at all?" he asked.

"I was beginning to suspect-"

"I don't like it!" he proclaimed. "At all!"

I looked at him and he retained a very vague smile. He was talkative – which he never was when we weren't alone. His eyes were constantly losing focus and he seemed to almost be struggling to keep his lids open.

"Well, it's the only one I have. And last time I checked, I didn't ask for your opinion!"

"Blackwood suits you better..." he announced ignoring me completely.

I was suspecting a concussion.

We reached the Hospital Wing. I pointedly ordered Malfoy to sit as far from Harry as possible. Madam Pomfrey seemed to be in shock to see their ruined faces but promised to patch them up in no time. Since Malfoy had nothing more evident than a cut lip and didn't seem to be in need of much attention, she firstly tented to Harry's ankle and nose.

"Hey..." said Draco in a whisper.

"What!" I hissed and folded my arms against my chest.

"What is 'karaoke'?"

He said it in the silliest, most boggled face I'd seen. He looked, in one word, stoned.

"I am starting to think that you have a concussion. Do you feel any headache? Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?" I said and raised my hand in front of him.

"Just tell me," he said in the most serious way he could muster.

"Hm... It's a muggle pastime. They erase the lyrics from songs and then they sing it themselves. 'Karaoke' means 'empty orchestra' in Japanese," I said and knew I had elaborated more than needed on a question that could be answered in a few short words. In any case, I was sure to be met with the same contempt Malfoy held for everything muggle.

"That was the most poetically beautiful thing I've heard all day," he said thoughtfully. "And I was just now reading Fitzgerald; it's not like I've been playing around..."

He sat back with his hands folded and considered this piece of knowledge for more time than any sober human being would.

He was diagnosed with a concussion a few minutes later. He was given a quick potion and he went back to his emotionless self in no time. He swallowed the medicine in one gulp and instantly changed from lost to stern and sombre in what seemed like seconds.

"Did I really say all these things?" he said in embarrassment. I nodded compassionately and watched him close his eyes slowly, as if darkness would make his cheery, mortifying memories go away.

"Well, then..." said Madame Pomfrey. "Do you feel any pain or soreness in any other place?"

"I think my elbow is a bit sore, but it's nothing..." said Malfoy, who was already standing and preparing his exit from the Hospital Wing.

"Well, let me take a look, then..." said Madame Pomfrey and showed him the bed again. She was the only one who permitted a student to leave the Wing.

"No," said Malfoy at once.

"Come on then, raise your sleeve," said Madame Pomfrey absentmindedly, tugging on the sleeve stubbornly.

"I said, no!" snapped Malfoy. Madame Pomfrey, who didn't expect this sort of reaction over such a trivial procedure, jolted back when Malfoy snapped his hand back.

Malfoy did not wait for approval nor did he give her a look of remorse. He looked at the lady the way he looked at muggleborns during classes. He grabbed his blazer from the nearby chair and stormed out of the Wing without a word further; the blond man, dressed in shadows disappeared in the distance.

"Your boyfriend sure is a little jumpy, dear," said Madame Pomfrey, raising her eyebrows in distaste.

"He is not my boyfriend," I said at once.

_...He is not even my friend._

_Margot, if you were here, you would tell me to forget about him at once. You always tell me to never underestimate the proof that behaviour holds. If I know anything by now, is that Malfoy is as violent as he is secretive. But you also always tell me that I should trust my instincts from time to time. I hope you can see where I'm going with this; your advice is always contradicting._

_I am aware – for you know that I always try to be honest with myself – that this is my excuse for going with my instincts this time._

_And in any case, he still has my Great Gatsby. Just like last time, he still has something mine. He still has a hold on me and the bastard knows it._

_See you soon,  
Ophelia_


	26. Attempt

***(mild) trigger warning: self-harm***

* * *

**D**

One last attempt.

The Potion Madam Pomfrey had provided me with to instantaneously cure my concussion made me extremely grounded. I also noticed how easy it was to read a chapter without losing focus. Strangely, even though I never had perfect vision (despite the fact that I frequently visited a Healer specializing in eyesight to get my semi-annual vision enhancement spell in order to not require glasses), now I could see even the microscopic specks of dust in the library while I was making my last decisions on which curse was better to use on the necklace.

What better moment to enchant the necklace than now, when I was alert and my focus was thriving?

I did what I had to do and approached the issue with as little emotionality as I could. The potion seemed to have helped with that as well. It must have made me extremely reasonable as well; every shred of anger that I was still holding from my fight with Potter this morning or every urge to talk to Ophelia had blissfully disappeared. I was unemotional even when it came to things that usually infuriated me in a blink of an eye. When I bumped in a mudblood in the library and dropped my books down, I didn't shout, didn't yell, didn't even feel angry.

So, I did what I had to do and placed the necklace deep within my trunk, ready for tomorrow.

Then, with my mind made of stone just like I wanted it, I knocked on Snape's door.

"Everything set for tomorrow?" he said, not raising his eyes to acknowledge me.

"Yes," he answered.

"I will be going to Hogsmeade to settle it. When it gets delivered, I will inform you myself. Wait for my signal."

"How are you going to get it delivered without anyone seeing you?"

"This is none of your business," I answered at once. "Just do as you're told."

"You seem... overtly... confident."

The long pauses in his voice left dead silences that stretched in the dungeon like long screams. In a place like the one Snape adored and never parted from, these silences were as loud as a shriek one would let out while tortured.

"Thank you," I simply said.

"It wasn't intended as a compliment."

I placed my hands on his desk and leaned in warningly.

"Count your words, Severus. By this time tomorrow, I will be man number two in our army. I suggest you stop challenging me further – if you want your greasy head to remain attached to your neck, that is."

"Master Malfoy, you forget," he said mockingly, "you have to succeed first."

Only some vague traces of emotions were beginning to make their way back into my body and mind but they were only fragments compared to the usual anger that derived from within me whenever I had a conversation with Snape.

When I would have usually yelled and snapped at him, the concussion potion stopped me. I simply turned around, held my head truthfully high and left the office, lingering only for one second to give Snape my condescending smirk before closing the door.

Tomorrow would be a triumph. Next time we would meet I would be the Dark Lords favourite. He would mean nothing to me and I would mean everything to him.

Although I usually skipped my dinner whenever possible – today I was overly hungry. I walked into the Great Hall. It didn't seem like today that I had fought with Potter near the Slytherin table. I felt like a different person, a changed man that was only vaguely recalling his childhood memories.

I filled my plate and started eating.

"Well, _that_ is something you don't see every day..." said Blaise. Maya, who was sitting at his side and proudly holding his hand, seemed surprised as well. "Slow down!" he gasped and passed me some juice to help me wash down the enormous bite I was attempting to swallow. "What's wrong with you?"

For the first time in what seemed like an age and a half, I let out what could pass like a chuckle in front of someone who wasn't Ophelia. I was overwhelmed with energy and liveliness – not happy, just energized. I couldn't believe it was already afternoon. I would have to sleep early tonight but I felt no sign of fatigue – unlike usually. I took a glimpse of my watch. I began to wonder for how long the effects of this miraculous potion were going to last. It had been exactly 6 hours since I took it.

It came back quickly.

I looked at the Gryffindor table. She was sitting with her friend – the one with the bangs. Her tie was not well knotted. She was eating silently.

My stomach started growling and aching in what seemed like half a second. A stone was sitting on the back of my throat and was forcing each back to stay in my mouth. I couldn't swallow anymore.

I disappeared from the Hall and run to the nearest bathroom. The only close place I knew was the girl's lavatory on the second floor. It was mostly abandoned anyway and I certainly preferred it if no one saw me like this. I ran as quickly as I could. I opened a cubicle door and dropped to my knees, bending over to hurl my poor attempt in a proper meal. Bite after bite, everything was thrown up sooner or later.

"You're destroying my toilette seat!"

The flooring was damp but I couldn't care right at this moment. I rested my head on the worn-out, green wood of the booth and closed my eyes, trying to determine if there was anything else in my stomach that needed to come up.

"I said!" The voice echoed in the bathroom again. "You're destroying my toilette seat!"

Above me stood a ghost. I knew perfectly well who she was. She was the infamous ghost of the second-floor girl's lavatory that annoyed every girl that came in. I ignored her and focused on my stomach – but it wasn't just my stomach anymore.

All the emotions that the potion had subdued had come back all at once. Now I could see what I'd done today. I had cursed a necklace with the strongest killing-hex I could find. I hadn't even taken a deep breath before pointing my wand to it. I had looked at the necklace, fully aware of what it would do once cursed, and went on just the same.

And this was just the preparation, the beginning of some part of my task. A knife is only dangerous in the hands of a killed and so the necklace's purposed was only besmirched by my intentions – a killer's intentions.

It somehow got too much – too heavy.

I tried to lift off some of that burden by crying. I seemed to be doing that more often than I dared admit nowadays.

"You're crying?" Moaning Myrtle's voice was for once compassionate. She seemed to have found solace in the sound of my short gasps. I imagined that it must have been very lonely to be crying alone in eternity. It would be better if she had someone to cry with her.

"Leave me alone..." I muttered. I couldn't have anyone whiteness my pathetic outburst, induced by the withdrawal symptoms of a concussion potion.

That night I lay on my bed and tried not to move.

My pulse raised in the thought of the sun rising.

I drank. I drank just enough to loosen my thoughts and relax my muscles.

I promised I wouldn't break into more tears. It had been a good day in whole; an unemotional one. I couldn't ruin it now.

I stood. With the calmness that this night deserved, I got into the tub.

One last attempt.

If I ended everything today, I wouldn't have to be afraid.

Blaise would find me the next morning and the plan would never be set in action. The necklace would forever remain in my trunk. Everyone would say I deserved it, and they would be right. It would hurt some people, yet I didn't have any feelings towards the outcome of a deeper cut. My mother would fall into despair for some time, my father would rot in a cell, my grandmother would never hear me play the piano for her again. Blaise would cry a bit and maybe Ophelia would shed a lonely tear. Yes, it would hurt some people but it would save some others.

I was very methodical about it. I made a mental list of the people that would be saved by this razor and noted what I'd be saving them from and whether I'd be saving them permanently or temporarily.

Katie Bell – from the traumatic experience of the Imperious Curse – permanently (unless she became some other Death Eater's tool or conduit after I was gone)

Albus Dumbledore – from death – temporarily (for surely someone else would soon be tasked with the deed)

Mudbloods, half-bloods, blood-traitors – from death – temporarily (for surely, someday Voldemort would win)

Ophelia and Ophelia's parents, supra note.

Draco Malfoy – from crimes – permanently

Draco Malfoy – from pain – permanently

Draco Malfoy – from immorality – permanently

Dray – from expectations – permanently

I didn't care about most of the people on my list. The last section, however, seemed important. It sounded important that I should save _me_.

Yes, saving Draco Malfoy was an easy task.

So, one last attempt.

One last attempt to push the razor deeper.

One last attempt to stop being a coward like my father.

One last attempt to stop existing.

One last attempt to save Draco Malfoy.

Needless to say, that if you're hearing this story right now, I didn't save him – that night, at least.

* * *

I woke up in the morning, bandaged myself again, got dressed, took a walk around the grounds, visited our elm tree near the Black Lake for what I had convinced myself was the last time, admired the handsome, white cloak the castle was wearing, played with the ice, returned to my dorm, wore my black suit over my black turtleneck, wore my father's ring and started.

* * *

I looked her in the eyes and she was terrified. Gryffindors felt fear as much as any person, especially when they were caught off guard in a pub's bathroom. Her lip curled and her look was inquisitive but one thing was sure; I was the hunter and she was the pray. She was defenceless after I'd taken her wand and it was easy to do what I had to.

"Malfoy... What are you doing?" she said.

"Shut up." I bet my eyes were glistening.

I had to press the tip of my wand on her forehead.

I had to mean it, and so every other emotion made way for my grand moment.

"What are you going to do?"

"Shut up!"

"Please..." she said. She might have thought I would kill her. She didn't know my motives and so, she might have been even more scared than I would expect her to be.

I intended on drawing a long breath. In the end, it was short and uneven.

"Imperio."

Saving Draco Malfoy seemed like an easier choice now.


	27. Opera

**D**

I bet she was a very popular girl – almost as popular as Ginny Weasley. She was an athlete. She was a Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She was a beautiful girl and people said she fancied Cedric Diggory when she was still in her fourth year. She was a bright girl, although hopeless with Potions. After Hogwarts, she wanted to play Quidditch professionally, which her parents didn't approve of.

They said she was in pain. She had seizures every ten minutes. They said that Madam Pomfrey could not possibly do this on her own. They said they would transfer her to St. Mungo's before it was too late.

I wish I knew all these things before. I wanted to dehumanize her as much as possible before I did it. But then again, everyone had their story and I bet I would feel the same way about everyone.

I had never talked to her before that day, yet now I felt that we could have been friends.

Then again, there was never a thing I could hurt that I wouldn't sympathize with later.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey was snoozing in her small bedroom in the Hospital Wing. She had the door open. She had placed Katie in the closest bed. She needed to be alert and run to Katie's side on the occasion of a seizure. She must have been sleepless for those terrible 48 hours that Katie was held in Hogwarts.

I walked inside soundlessly.

The one and only patient was lying on her bed. I inspected her. She had to be tied down so that she wouldn't hurt herself. She had bruises on her wrists where the straps met her skin. Her hair was coarse. There was a bald spot on her scalp. Katie had ripped this part out during one of her seizures. She was pale; I was wondering how they fed her.

"Katie?" I whispered.

Her eyes opened at once but there were no pupils or irises. The white of her eyes was showing. At once, she started shaking in spasms – yet, there was no sound coming out of her gagging mouth.

"No!" I hissed.

Some instinct told me to shake her awake but she didn't seem to respond in any nudge or jolt. She was in pain – I could tell by her muffled words. It was silent pain – one that ate you from inside out.

I looked behind me. Madam Pomfrey was still deeply asleep in her room. Katie wasn't loud enough to wake her up.

"No! Katie!" I repeated and the instinct that told me to shake her took over me again. It was the only way I found to comfort her.

But with every shake, the pain was becoming more and more evident in the veins that were popping out on her neck and forehead. I pressed my hands on her shoulders harder and harder and I begged for her to wake up. Her screams were muffled and drenched in agony.

Then I realized – it was my touch that pained her.

I let her go and she seemed to ease the aching, yet, her eyes were still rolling to the back of her scalp. I took some hesitant steps back.

It was the last time that I would see her for a while – and she was in so much pain.

I ran out of the Hospital Wing and on my way to the door, I threw down a chair on purpose to wake up Madam Pomfrey. I paused outside the door and made sure to hear Madam Pomfrey's steps as she was approaching Katie in shock. Then I disappeared. I couldn't let anyone see me near my victim.

* * *

I sat on the stool and felt exposed and naked. Snape's aggressive eyes were stuck on the back of my head as he was circling me. In the dungeons, one could feel like there was no way out. If he tortured me right now, my screams would be hidden under the layers upon layers of stone that separated us from the busy halls of the school.

In these cases, silence is worse than shouts. I would have preferred it if he screeched at me, hit me or cursed me.

"Before you speak, I want you to know that it was not my fault," I said. "She shouldn't have touched it in the first place. And as you can see, the curse was effective enough to take out a young girl – surely it would have killed the old man instantly. I really tried. I did. I almost succeeded. So, you can tell him that it will be done soon. I have many other options. I have infinite plans in the works and I already have a good poison in mind."

Snape walked to his desk and, as always, leaned over it, touching the wood with closed fists. My father would have smiled at me with an evil, degrading smirk. Even that would be better than Snape's blunt expression, that straight face. He looked down between his hands. Now, I wasn't even worthy of a glance.

"You are a disgrace to all Death Eaters. You are an embarrassment."

Now, _this_ did sound like my father indeed. I had almost started to miss his scornful remarks. Who knows, if I had succeeded, I might have already managed to take him out of Azkaban by now.

"I knew you were going to fail. There isn't something that you can do without failing completely. Tell me, boy. Did you even _want_ to succeed?"

It was a notion that had to be discarded whenever it entered my head. I had been in Hogwarts for two months. At a first glance, it seemed that the mission was taking over my life. It kept me awake at night and forced me into insanity. However, when you looked at the practical side of things, my energy had been used for everything but my mission. Drinking and smoking and tubs and late-night walks; this was all I ever did.

"You were careless. You didn't even use any stealth through it all. Do you know that Potter is suspecting you? He seemed to know at once."

"He can't prove anything!" I snapped.

"This is your excuse? You were supposed to have been tasked with this mission because no one could have guessed that a boy of 16 with no exceptional talent or wit could do something like this."

"We both know that's not true. The Dark Lord chose me to punish my father for failing him. Only a fool wouldn't understand that."

"You _dare_ pass judgement on the Dark Lord's choices?" said Snape slowly. "You... _dare_ form an opinion?" He showed his teeth in disgust. "You are a tool. You are nothing. Nothing at all."

He paused and watched me dropping my eyes to the floor.

"For the last time; I can help you. Let me assist you. You need my experience and you need my aid. Why are you so reluctant?"

He was waiting for an answer – I considered it but never replied.

I stood and instantly felt dizzy as the blood was drained from my head. I had drunk last night and I was stilling the symptoms of a hangover.

Leaving without a word made me feel small, ashamed. It was my silent way of admitting that I was lost, and whether or not Snape understood this as my confession was irrelevant. I was reminded right at that moment of what I'd come to terms with long ago; this mission would be my death.

* * *

I stood behind the threadbare tapestry and closed my eyes.

_I want..._

I didn't know what I wanted anymore. Something inside me was asking for a way out of this task. Then another part of me wanted to be shown the right way to complete it, for, in reality, it was the one and only way out of this pretence. I had intended to work on the Vanishing Cabinet again tonight.

But let's start with one step at a time.

_I want Jonnie Walker... Malboro Red... A comfortable couch..._

I paused.

_And something that Ophelia would listen to..._

I opened my eyes to see the door for the Room of Requirement's door already forming. Stone turned to steel and steel turned to black iron.

I walked inside. The Room knew how to relax me. The room was small and empty, not vast and cluttered as usual. I didn't need anything to remind me of my mission.

The sofa had a few pillows and blankets thrown on it. Next to it, stood a plain coffee table that held the things I needed most. I lit a cig and poured myself a drink. Then I turned to the large gramophone that was laid in the centre of the table.

There was a vinyl disk next to it. Its case looked old and worn out – which made you wonder if the Room deliberately picks things depending on how you preferred them. Something about knowing that this record had been used before made it special and I liked telling myself that it was not just another one of the Room's trick to soothe me.

 _Maria Callas: Arias & Operas_, it wrote.

The woman on the cover was dark, sprinkled with old Mediterranean beauty. She had strong eyebrows and her lips were painted red in a smile that seemed stunning. I put the record in its right place and heard the needle scratch it before the music started playing.

It was a cry for help. It was the song of a widow at a funeral. It was the wail of a mother after losing a child. It was the tears of the lover after the love has died. It was the truth – bare, naked truth.

Why did I want to cry so badly?

I knew the piercing voice was coming from the gramophone but it sounded like it was deriving from everywhere around me – or even within me. The music vibrated in my ears and neck.

My eyelids closed almost unwillingly, spontaneously because I wanted to feel the song with no distraction. It sounded like pain. It tasted like ash. It felt like velvet. It smelled like honey.

It didn't have a face but if it did, it would be my mother's or my grandmother's or my Ophelia's.

In my Van Gogh notebook, I scribbled my pain. I wouldn't tear or burn this one.

_You will never understand the emptiness that consumes you until you feel something real. Every slap on a boy's cheek, every bruise on a mother's skin, every thrill, every Sunday game, every wrongful deed, every new cloak, every book, every burst of violence, every song, every romance, every mistake; it all disappears in moments like these._

_You will never understand the emptiness that consumes you until you feel something real. In these moments, you will want to cry and weep and wail. And the more you want to, the less you will need to._

_You will never understand the emptiness that consumes you until you feel something real. In these moments, your soul will heal._

_Of course, the music stops sooner or later._

_Beware, for emptiness comes back at once._


	28. Gatsby in the Dark

D

I felt two weeks passing silently. The passage of time tortured me as were slowly making our way towards the last week of November. The snow had melted and fell again and then melted once more. The season was tricking me. Autumn wanted to make me feel as if the years had come and gone.

Blaise stormed inside and purposefully made as much noise as he wanted. He kicked a trunk that was standing in his way and pulled the heavy drapes of the bed open.

"You need to get out of the room, man," said Blaise.

He flicked his wand. At once, the smell of alcohol and tobacco that had drenched each inch of our small and dark room had disappeared and was replaced by the sweet smell of clean linen. Blaise, messy though he was, liked everything smelling good. We had that in common, but it was a need I had recently neglected.

"I have a fever," I declared and scrubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

"It seems like a very persistent fever," he said. If there was a fever, Blaise would be the first to have noticed or cared to give me a potion. "When did you sleep last night?" he asked.

I tried to recall any trace of memory I had from the Friday night I'd spent closed in that room. I realise I didn't remember Blaise in the picture. There was a chance he had slept in Maya's but there was a chance that I was too drunk to notice.

"At 2?" I estimated.

"Have you been sleeping for 16 hours? That's a first... I thought you were married to insomnia." Blaise put his hands on his waist and looked around the room. He was looking for another thing to fix or clean or tidy up. I suspect he didn't know how else to help me put my life back together.

"Wait. It's afternoon already?" I asked.

"It's dinner time, Draco! Take a shower, put on a fresh shirt and come downstairs, okay? Maya and I will be waiting for you," he said in some exhaustion.

"No. Don't wait for me. I need to shave and all..." I let out an honest cough. I had just woken up and I always had to clear my throat after a long night of smoking and binging.

"You seriously have _got_ to stop smoking," he said, shaking his head. "You're a mess."

"You were the one who introduced me to it."

"Yes, at a party, Draco! I thought it was a one-time occurrence for you, too. And anyway, this is exactly why I feel responsible for your current situation. I offered it to you and now I am taking it back!" Blaise held a hand out and waited stubbornly. If I knew anything about him, it was that he wouldn't back of once he had asked for something. We had that in common as well. It was easier to give him my pack now and steal it back later. I unwillingly reached for the cigs on the nightstand.

"You're so annoying."

"You're welcome!" he snapped. "Anyhow... I'm off. And we are going to Hogsmeade tomorrow. You need to see the light of day."

"No," I said at once. "Not Hogsmeade," I was begging.

"Well, then we are going flying. Anywhere you want."

"But-"

"Ta-ta-ta! You need exercise. And next Saturday there is going to be a party in the Room of Requirements. You won't be allowed anywhere near the drinks but everyone is going and you need to socialize or at least get out of this bloody room," he stated and opened the door to leave. "Oh, and," he hesitated, "someone was looking for you."

"Who?" My eyes shot up to his.

"Blackthorn," he said.

In the sound of the name, I stumbled on the leg of my bed and stabbed my toe on an edge. I kicked the pain out and tried not to look ridiculous in the process, something I was failing at. Blaise laughed.

"I saw her in the Common Room," he continued. "She asked when you usually come down for dinner and said something about a book..." he said so-called absentmindedly.

I was going through my second reading of _The Great Gatsby._ I was initially planning on returning it. At first, I thought that Ophelia's stubbornness would cease sooner or later and she would give me a new book soon. Now, it was the only thing I had left of her and I couldn't part with it.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" I tried to keep my voice in check but I sounded angry even in my biased ears.

Blaise smirked and tried to contain a laughter.

"I knew this would cheer you up. And now you have some extra motivation to come down for dinner."

He left at once and seemed pleased with himself.

I thought about it long and hard. Some instinct told me to stay put. Somehow, I couldn't see a scenario where Ophelia approached me during dinner about a borrowed book. Bold though she was, she had always avoided talking to me in public. It seemed out of place and out of character for her. If she wanted it back, I would expect her to ask for it in private. Then again, if she indeed planned to actually ask for her book back, how much did it suit me to be available for this request? I didn't want to give it back to her. I wanted to sleep with it under my pillow.

I put the vinyl on the record player and Maria Callas echoed in the room. I flicked my wand to temporarily make the walls soundproof. I didn't need anyone to know I was listening to opera.

_O mio babbino caro..._

I wish I had a voice that could sing along without ruining the magic. I let the water fill the tub and I pressed the repeat button on the record player. I made myself a drink, removed my clothes and sank myself in the water, purposefully leaving the door open so I could hear the aria loud and clear.

I was not in the mood to take off the bandages but I felt obligated to. They needed cleaning and so did my forearms. I sipped my drink and left it aside. I submerged my head underwater and stayed there as long as my lungs could bear. I found the way opera sounded underwater somehow eerie and deaf. It sounded wet but warm – like the way you hear music when you're in the bathroom during a party.

The voice was surreal. It wasn't the clearest one I'd heard but it had emotion and pain in it.

The track stopped, made half a minute's pause and then started again.

I cleaned myself up, dried and replaced my bandages. I put on my trousers and a fresh shirt but when I looked into the mirror, I looked somewhat savage and violent. It was the stubble on my chin. I quickly leaned over the sink and looked for some shaving foam. The blade was still dirty in the safety razor – still stained with blood. It needed replacing.

The track stopped just in time. The hinges of the door creaked. Someone had entered without knocking.

I was half-expecting to see Blaise but I cannot say that I was extremely surprised when I took a step back from the sink to see who it was. Through the half-open bathroom door and behind the heavy drapes of the canopy, across the room and next to the record player, stood Ophelia.

I scoffed. Predictable.

She looked around mystically and only made quiet, careful moves. She was looking for something – her Gatsby, I presumed at once.

The song started again and in Maria Callas' first scream, Ophelia jumped up letting out a squeak. She was expecting the room to be completely empty and quiet, so she was startled.

"I was wondering when you'd turn up!" I said, drying my damp hands on a towel and throwing it on the bed. I was shouting. The opera singer was doing her best at ignoring me.

Ophelia was breathless and her eyes were opening wider and wider as I approached her. In her panic and distress, she had tightened up and was now standing in my way to the record player. I set two fingers on her shoulder, pushed her aside casually and put the volume down. Now that I wouldn't have to shout to get heard, I turned to face her.

"How-" she started.

"Blaise said you were looking for me," I interrupted. Now that _I_ was the one who was catching her red-handed, I allowed myself to smirk and enjoy my triumph. She inspected me from head to toe, which made me self-aware for a quick second. To my pleasant surprise, I had left my black shirt unbuttoned. Fate was smiling at me.

"He said you'd be downstairs for dinner," said Ophelia uncomfortably.

"He did, didn't he?" I said absentmindedly, closing the door behind her. Now she was officially trapped in here if she wasn't before.

"I came to ask for my book back-"

"-or rather, sneak in and look for it. Otherwise, why wouldn't you knock?"

Ophelia could have easily turned this against me. She could have said that she was doing exactly what _I_ did, if not with even more grounds. But she seemed disoriented and why shouldn't I take advantage of that?

"I wouldn't blame you, though. You learned from the best," I continued.

I straightened my collar and walked to my nightstand, where I kept my steel cufflinks in a black, velvet box. I, then, turned around and approached her, still clipping the silver on my sleeve without raising it. It was essential that she didn't know what I was hiding under these black sleeves. I noticed she was following my moves; she didn't want to look me in the eye.

"Do you think you'll get away with sneaking in here?"

" _You_ did."

"No, I didn't. I _didn't_ get away with it. I had to pay by losing a friend."

She swallowed on a dry throat, which only diverged my gaze from her eyes. I was now focused on her neck – that long neck – and then her chin – marked with her little white scar – and then her lips – the nude flowers that remained slightly open to draw consistently heavy breaths as I was getting closer.

"You seem surprised that this was the price to pay for reading my letters. I could have gotten you expelled."

But the easiest way to dodge her arguments was to avoid them and look casual doing it, so I opened my trunk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a brand new pack of cigs. As I ripped out the plastic wrappings, I began her degrading punishment: indifference.

"And to think that you had the audacity to call me a hypocrite every five minutes for one month straight? Are you even serious? I wonder, do you even act on the morals that you so feverishly proclaim to love?" I pulled the cork from the bottle. "The difference between you and me is that I never claimed to be a saint." I filled the cups slowly. " _You,_ on the other hand, can act like you have wings attached to your back like the angels in some of your favourite paintings." I approached, locking my eyes on hers. "But in reality, you're no more than a little devil." And with this, I offered her one cup. "Drink."

"No, thank you," she said stubbornly.

"Suit yourself."

I emptied both cups myself and left them on the table nearby one by one. I looked at her mistily, already light-headed – in heart if not in head.

I knew Ophelia. She could win an argument just with her witty comebacks in no time. In this particular evening, however, she was holding back. It was as if she was at a loss for words, which meant she was easy to play with.

Let's have a little fun.

"You know what we are listening to?" I said with an inquisitive look. Her expression remained lost. "We are listening to Maria Callas. Do you know who she was?"

"Of course, I know-"

"I read her biography! She was Greek!" I declared, ignoring her completely and making a swift turn back to the bottle. "She was one of the most renowned and celebrated sopranos of the 20th century. Her voice, as you can hear, is warm and lyrical and intense. She was a woman full of emotion and passion. She filled out the _La Scala_ and the _Metropolitan_ and everyone worshipped her."

I wasn't turned towards her but I could almost feel her rolling her autumn eyes as usual.

"Until she met the love of her life, her destiny, her doom. Aristotle Onassis."

It was the right chance to turn my eyes to her. How more obvious could I make it that she was my doom as well?

"She met Ari at a fancy party in Venice. He was a Greek millionaire and a shipowner and they cruised the world together and hanged out on yachts all the time, drank with the royal family of Monaco... That sort of thing. Maria was having so much fun that she even took a step back from her career for him."

I approached her. I felt the heat rising on my neck.

"And then Onassis left her for some woman called Jackie Kennedy. Apparently, the biographer considered that woman to be so popular that he didn't even explain who she was – so, I did a little digging. She was the wife of a Muggle American President – a very popular and beloved American President, might I add. But she was twice the star _he_ ever was. When Jackie entered a room, all eyes were on her. Unfortunately for her, her husband was assassinated in Dallas one day – and it's quite the historical moment for the Americans. Anyway, the very beautiful Jackie Kennedy stole Onassis' heart.

"He left Maria Callas at once. The soprano lived the rest of her short life in isolation. She lost her voice and died, not long after. She asked for her ashes to be scattered across the Aegean Sea. I think she wanted Ari to never sail the seas in peace ever again – her memory was in the waters. Isn't that hauntingly beautiful?"

I raised the bottle and gulped back without losing Ophelia's eyes.

"Can't you just give me my book and get on with it?"

"Not before I torment you a bit more..." I whispered.

I let the bottle down. I wanted to have my hands free, just in case I needed them.

I tried to remain aware of each blink of her eyes as I made my moves. Too much blinking was a sign of breathlessness. So I kept my eyes on hers but then slightly opened my black shirt wider to let my hands make their way to my pockets. These subtle moves were used as bait for attention and it worked at once; Ophelia quickly looked down – maybe at my disappearing hands, maybe at my belt – and then quickly looked up again. She had already blinked twice. I smirked.

She was turned on. Now, so was I.

"You know what I think?" she said tilting her head sideways – her poor excuse for intimidation.

"Enlighten me, Ophelia," I said and took a smooth step towards her. She was losing her ground because she took a step back.

"I think you are so full of yourself. You don't like invasion of space. It took you weeks to even touch me. But then you go ahead and invade. You go ahead and sneak into my room."

"What's your point?" I shrugged.

"You don't like to be served the medicine you produce. Your own venom tastes sour on your lips. So, I suggest you button up your shirt and give me my book," she raised her eyebrows casually.

However much I didn't want to admit it at the moment, she was insanely right. Then again, I didn't have time to think too much into the first half of her argument. There wasn't a chance of her mentioning my unbuttoned shirt without me revelling in the confession that she had noticed it.

"You didn't come for the book."

It was my time to shine, my time to throw my meaningless analysis of her actions. I wasn't going to let her win.

Another step towards her. She finally let me close the distance. She was within my reach. It would take nothing for me to lay my claws on her pretty neck.

"You came for the revenge," I continued. "You came to satisfy your stubbornness. 'Malfoy looked through my stuff; I should look through his too'. You're a Slytherin for a reason."

I had purposefully lowered and deepened my voice. If she followed my lead and talked in a whisper as well, it would mean that she liked the sound of my voice and that she had been influenced by my mood. To follow my lead would mean I already had her.

"You must be pretty self-obsessed to think that the thought of you stayed in my head for more than a minute after you left my dorm." Her voice had become low just as I had predicted. "You're nothing to me. If you don't have the basic human decency to not read a girl's letters, I have nothing to do with you. Had it my way, I wouldn't have to even look at you again."

And as soon as she said that, she ran her eyes from my head to my toes, stumbled on my chest for precisely two measured seconds. She blinked trice. When our eyes met again, her pupils were twice their size. Her body language told me everything I needed to know. She was turned on. I bet she must have felt a throb between her legs. Her feet were evidently weaker – otherwise, she would have drawn away. She was wet. I could feel it even from our distance.

In these circumstances, I couldn't help but keep playing our dangerous game.

"You seem to be enjoying it right now."

She swallowed again and with that, a chain of deranged, dirty reactions began in my aroused mind. If I wasn't hard before, that swallowing of saliva had made me stiff and erect.

"If you never wanted to see me again, what are you doing here? You knew that you might get caught. You're not stupid. Why did you come?" I added after our dirtily long pause.

"I am going to say it once more," she said.

By this point, I was reading her lips, listening to the discreet clicking of her tongue whenever it parted the top of her mouth. Her mouth was watered. That meant she was hot and roused.

"I want my book back," she declared.

 _I want_ you _back._

"I want our friendship back," I ended up saying quickly.

It took immense amounts of self-control and restrain not to let my tongue slip my first thought. In my efforts to make her light-headed, I had let myself go as well.

"We were never friends," she whispered.

I wished she had meant it the way _I_ did. She was never a friend to me either. She was my secret desire, my soft and hard spot. She didn't know how many times I'd jerked off to the colour of her autumn eyes. She didn't know how many times I'd come minutes after thinking of the night I'd seen her soaking wet in her white shirt and black, lacy bra.

"You're stealing my lines."

"You should have them copyrighted then."

"That was a bad comeback even for you. Are you somehow distracted?" I smirked. "Am I distracting you, Ophelia?" One more step. One little step.

Her lips parted and produced a wet noise. She breathed out heavily, then looked at my lips.

"Book. Now."

The next move should have been hers. If she wanted this to go on she should have said or done something appropriate. Then again, she might have wanted to burn me, to let me sizzle in the thought of what she had controlled herself from doing. In any case, she closed her mouth, straightened her back and looked away.

The book was under my pillow. She watched me as I was getting it for her. I think her look softened.

I pressed the book on her chest, showing aggression and pressure. He held it there as I let go of my hand. I was hoping for another touch.

I was expecting her to leave at once after that but she lingered behind. She was waiting for something. I was suspecting that she wanted an apology for my recent behaviour. No person would come back for more without having something in it.

"Who _was_ she?"

The choice of word was precise. If I couldn't get what I wanted from her tonight, I might as well hurt her a little bit.

Her eyes didn't glisten this time. The only time of weakness she had allowed herself was when she was caught off guard in her dorm. Now, she had collected herself enough to look at me without flinching.

"Stay away from me."

It was an answer to both my question and my noisiness. Ophelia disappeared again.


	29. Punished

O

_December 1st, 1996_

_Dear Margot,_

_You once told me that nothing good will happen at a school party. The tale is told and so cliché that I could die of boredom. You spend your week planning the clothes you're going to wear only to decide on something else two minutes before leaving. Saturday is spent daydreaming and saving some energy on a wild night. There is hype, there is anticipation. And by Sunday morning it all goes away. You smell the smoke on your clothes and feel cheap and wasted. Nothing has changed._

_I think that you're going to find this occasion a little bit familiar..._

On Thursday night, Neville pulled Hermione, Ginny and me aside. At first, he was hesitant and didn't speak freely. He started asking questions about that Saturday night party he'd heard the Hufflepuffs were throwing. Who was invited? What sort of music would there be? Was it casual or fancy?

"Have the Ravenclaws been invited?" He had left this question for last.

Although the party was common knowledge for everyone who was casually eating their lunch in the Great Hall that evening, Neville kept his tones hushed. Maybe he was afraid of some professor listening in our conversation.

"I am not sure..." said Ginny with a frown. "Hermione, should we ask Luna?" she said at once.

"Absolutely. Although I am sure she will be against a party like that. We have a test on Monday morning! We should spend our Saturday night a tad more productively than jumping up and down in the Room of Requirement, shouldn't we?" said Hermione turning to me, her only supporter when it came to avoiding crowded places.

"Are you asking _me_?" I asked. "Because you know I'm showing up in jeans and a jumper and I'm leaving early – before I have to carry Ron back to his room again. It's someone else's turn this time. Come to think of it, why am _I_ always the sober friend who has to make sure no one sleeps on their back?"

"Girls!" said Neville and raised a hand. "Weren't you going to ask Luna if she is coming?" he said shyly.

"Oh! Right! Come on, Hermione!" said Ginny.

I chose to stay behind, not only because I had brought three books with me to lunch and was dreading any unnecessary trip during which I would have to carry them with me, but also because the girls might have looked over Neville's odd questions while I certainly hadn't.

"So... Luna is very fun..." I said raising my eyebrows. Neville was a shy person and I didn't want to put him in a tough situation with any invasive questions.

"I know what you're thinking, Ophelia!" he burst out when he noticed my suspicious look.

"I didn't even say anything!" I said throwing my hands up astonished.

"You were about to!" said Neville pointing at me with a smile.

"Yes, I was..." I admitted sighing.

Neville went back to his pumpkin juice but I was getting the feeling that he wasn't done talking about this.

"I think it's very sweet that you want her to come to the party," I said.

In this one chance Neville got, he smacked his cup nervously and leaned over the table.

"Please, help me, Ophelia!" he hissed. "I don't know how to dance and I don't know what to wear and I don't know if she will even come!"

The next 48 hours were spent debating which was the right clothing that would neither be too much nor too plain for this much-awaited party. Neville insisted that we kept the motives of his night from the other girls. I thought that Ginny would be a better judge on clothing but I suspected that Neville felt exposed enough that I now knew his little secret.

He asked me to lend him my mixed tapes. I assured him that I had nothing in there that could be played at a party but Neville liked to put on every rock song he could find in my collection and dance in front of the mirror.

"You used to do ballet, right Ophelia? Surely you must know if this looks okay..." he said and threw his head back and forth, messing up his curly hair. He looked dizzy.

"I used to dance to Tchaikovsky, Neville; not _Kiss_."

It brought memories. The Academy had held one or two dances. They tried giving us the equivalent of school dances for ballet dancers. I remember dancing with Margot. It was always easy for us to simply follow whatever music was playing and dance without caring much if we got the moves right. We spent our days repeating choreographies to perfection. It used to be liberating to dance to some pop song. Now – not so much.

Everyone was making plans for the big night. The Hufflepuffs vowed to make this the most successful party of the year. Hermione suggested that Ginny and I slept over in her dorm after the party was over – which coincided perfectly with Maya's plans (she always asked to have our dorm for herself and Blaise after occasions like these).

On the night of the party, Maya was overflowed with thrill and joy because this night coincided with the anniversary of her last night in Montmartre, the summer night when Blaise and her met in some lonely wizards' bar, the night when he had stolen her heart. Although Maya dedicated time to dress up to the nines even on weekdays, this time she exceeded herself. She closed herself up in the bathroom for hours and she came out smelling like the first breath of spring. Since she had stopped any other communication with the snobby Slytherin princesses, who had set her aside after she had laid eyes to the queen's ex, she only had me to turn to when she needed to make a decision on what underwear matched best to the occasion. I think she was beginning to feel rather lonely nowadays as well.

When I saw her getting into a little black dress (silk and delicate with drapes that complemented her stunning curves and with thin straps that left her shoulders bare) I instantly became self-conscious about my own choice of clothes. At first, I thought it was better to stay comfortable so that I could dance freely. I had decided to wear my casual pair of jeans and only switch from the shapeless and comfortable grey sweater to a black, figure-hugging turtleneck. Now, I was having second thoughts. How many chances would I have to dress up a bit differently?

"Won't you get dressed?" said Maya while curling her hair.

That did it. I replaced the jeans with a skirt; a dark brown plaid skirt. I kept the black turtleneck. I wasn't going to let myself be completely influenced by the need to fit in.

"This is so _you_!" said Maya in excitement. When she saw me struggling to find a pair of shoes that matched my black tights, she even offered me her ankle boots, the ones with the thick and high heels.

"Okay, what's up? Why are you being so kind to me?" I said with narrow eyes.

Maya was no fool. She knew exactly how I meant this. Politeness was not the same as kindness and Maya never showed affection unnecessarily – and neither did I. I couldn't blame everything on her temporary loneliness and friendlessness.

Maya smirked.

"I just want to thank you that you've been so generous over the last two months. You've tolerated my sleepovers for way too long. I think lending you my nice boots is the least I can do," she said with a faint smile. She walked to the nearby mirror and started brushing her blonde hair and then applying all kinds of spells to create voluminous curls. "And anyway, you're not exactly reaching the top-shelf at the moment, sweetie," she said, letting out her naturally sarcastic self.

"For the last time, I am not short – I am average."

"Well, in any case, Malfoy is coming today and you need to be your tallest self if you want to reach him."

She put her stilettos on and walked away, leaving me with my mouth agape. During our short-lived friendship, I thought that Maya never suspected a thing. She was too busy dallying with Blaise. Now, I was somehow under the impression that both her and Blaise were not only aware but also encouraging some kind of connection between Draco and me – which was definitely not possible anymore.

I felt naked and exposed at that moment but put on the boots none the less.

We were ready at around the same time, so Maya and I walked downstairs to the sitting area of the Common Room. Blaise and Malfoy were already waiting for her to appear.

"Hello, gorgeous," said Blaise and approached Maya for a kiss, a loud and provocative one.

With my peripheral vision, I caught the shadowy figure of Malfoy. He was standing with his hands sunk into his pockets as usual. A black leather backpack was hanging from one shoulder as he was leaning against the stoned wall. His clothing hadn't changed much. He was wearing his black suit as usual but had added a snake pin on his black tie, one that was shining and staring with an emerald green eye.

It was odd seeing Malfoy lingering near the couple on the night of their anniversary. Was he becoming a burden to both of them? Yet, he didn't seem to be enjoying his night so far at all. He was as grumpy as always as he rolled his eyes to the sight of the couple snogging. Maybe he was being dragged to this party.

He watched me as I walked up the stairs, already getting a head start on my way to the party. The coincidence of us crossing ways was one that had to be remedied.

"Come on. Stop snogging already. We will be late," I heard Malfoy snapping hurriedly.

There was a very specific process in order to get into the Room of Requirements for the party. First of all, the entry of all the attendees had to occur before 11 o'clock to avoid getting caught in the corridors after hours. Still, the students ought not to attract any attention to themselves. Anyone who wished to enter had to wait in the 7th floor toilets opposite the tapestry of the Room of Requirements. A designated Hufflepuff would be waiting next to the entrance of the Room. When given the sign that the corridor was empty, the students had to quickly approach the doorman, say the password and then enter the party quickly.

The three Slytherins were not far behind me. I could hear Maya's heels hitting the stone beneath us as she was trying to hide behind the two boys. She looked like she was going to the Oscars and if a member of staff saw her, her clothing would definitely attract some unwanted attention. Malfoy told her to take off her shoes and make less noise.

As for myself, I didn't look conspicuous. I was hardly dressed for a party, so I mindlessly walked to the seventh-floor toilets. The three of them arrived a few seconds later.

I waited by the door and peeked outside to the vacant corridor. Next to the tapestry opposite me, a Hufflepuff in his uniform was double and triple-checking right and left to give us the all-clear.

"That is mighty short..." whispered Malfoy in my ear.

"It's called a skirt," I rolled my eyes.

"It's a change. Are you hoping to catch someone's attention, Blackwood?"

It was tiring correcting this mistake every time it was made on purpose. I growled and turned to look at him. He was standing closely behind me.

"Don't tell me you're one of those that think a girl can only wear a skirt to catch someone's eye..." I said jadedly.

"Well... Want it or not the outcome is the same."

His deep eye-contact was intense and penetrating. I hadn't come face to face with these cold, grey eyes in a week and I needed to pretend that I'd forgotten how it felt like on my skin.

I returned to overlooking the corridor. The doorman was still undecided on whether or not he should admit us yet.

"Is that so bad?" I asked. "That's what happens at parties. You dress nicely, you dance, you drink and if you meet someone nice, so much the better."

"Where will you sleep tonight?" he snapped and seemed to not have bothered with anything I had said.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"I know Blaise and Maya will be using your dorm tonight – where will you sleep?" I felt the brush of his drunken breath on the back of my neck.

"That's none of your business."

At that moment, he lost his balance. He spread an arm and held himself stable against the door. Was he already drunk?

"It's a simple question. _Who_ are you going to sleep with?"

"You four!" the Hufflepuff hissed across the hall, interrupting the scene. "You're next."

We tiptoed to his place.

"Noctem bibat," I said.

"Wait a minute!" said the Hufflepuff. "Malfoy isn't getting in!"

"He is my plus one!" said Blaise at once.

"We don't need people who start fights in there!" said the Hufflepuff. It seemed that the fight between Harry and Malfoy was so unexpected that the students still hadn't recovered from the incident. Everyone was how it started or what was said to have caused such a violent burst between the two of them. Malfoy seemed to have calmed down during this term – what got into him?

"So, I assume you're going to exclude Potter as well?" Blaise jumped straight to Malfoy's defence but he was quickly interrupted when Malfoy raised his hand for both of them to stop.

"I brought booze," he announced casually. Of course, he had.

The Hufflepuff narrowed his eyes. "How much?"

"Two bottles of Firewhiskey."

"Okay get in. And play nicely!"

The tapestry was enchanted to work as a soundproof shield, hiding the music from the outside world. As soon as we were covered under it, the music from inside the room started beating against our eardrums loudly. The door opened.

The party inside the Room of Requirements hadn't exactly started yet. Students of all houses were still arriving and most of the people were hesitant to dance on an empty dancefloor. I instantly spotted Harry and Ron sitting near the bar. They had both put a significant amount of effort into their looks. Ron, who had recently started his heavy flirtation with Lavender Brown, had even combed his hair and put on a well-pressed shirt – which he usually abstained from. The boys were already drinking their first butterbeer while waiting for the girls to arrive.

In the middle of the still quiet dancefloor, I noticed Neville. He had finally decided on a blue plaid shirt – because this was Luna's favourite colour. He waved cheerily.

"Have fun, Ophelia..."

The voice came from behind me. It called me by my first name. I shivered and turned to look at him.

Draco (the first name had returned in my thoughts) swallowed and exhaled. His alcohol and smoke breath hit me, just like it always used to do.

"You look amazing. Too bad I'm not allowed to punch people in this party."

I didn't linger much. I walked away and was wondering if he was watching me walk towards Neville. Was my braid looking okay? Did my legs look good from the back?

It seemed like yesterday that we were friends – undoubtedly and solely friends. Then, in a moment, we were enemies and a hated face in the crowd. When did we start flirting with each other and when did I start liking it? It seemed easy to say that it was always like this but it was never so profoundly obvious and never more secretly hidden. The area was grey like his eyes and it was sweetly torturing me. I was getting a feeling that it was torturing him as well.

It didn't take long for the party to get wild. After 11 when everyone had officially arrived, a few brave Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs led the dance.

The wizards never got it right with music. One moment we were listening to raging rock music and the next we were dancing to the wildest hit of the times. But after a few drinks and a couple of shots, no one cared if the song choices were almost random. I danced until the soles of my feet ached.

Ron was the best dancer in the group. He was committed to the idea of making Lavender – and Hermione, in my humble opinion – jealous and I think there was a silent treaty between us that he was allowed to platonically dance with me in order to achieve both. Draco's eyes were soaked in rage as he was gulping back his third drink.

Harry didn't like dancing. He was quietly watching us ridicule ourselves on the dancefloor. Whenever dragged to a forced dance, he would show a few moves and return to the bar before the song was over. Once in a while, I would approach him and drink with him. It gave me a few moments to cool down and a second to catch a glimpse of Draco's corner in the bar – he was still watching.

Dancing would stop and resume according to what I fancied at the moment but I noticed that Draco was not satisfied with anything. His jealous look wouldn't rest even when I danced with the girls. I thought we would be predictable and think it was more platonic when I danced with Ginny. But he was reading my aura. He was onto me. He had already realized that I could just as easily be attracted to a girl, so he was equally jealous.

However, the havoc wreaked only when Cormac McLaggen approached me for a dance. At first, I was open to the idea of dancing with a boy I had never met and he hadn't given me any reason to subtly draw myself away before he laid his hands on my waist after only two minutes of dancing and hardly any approval from me. I must add that this caught Ron's and Harry's attention as well because Cormac was a famous player and despised by both of them. I paid attention to what Draco was doing at the moment. When he saw me getting uncomfortable, he jumped up. Blaise and Maya were nearby and watched him storm to the dancefloor. By this time, he was almost stumbling on his own feet. Blaise quickly followed and spread a hand across his chest to stop him in his tracks.

Ron was already trying to steal me from McLaggen and save me from the difficult spot that was to dance with a complete stranger that stuck to you like gum on a shoe, so when Draco managed to fight Blaise and reach us, the sight was very intriguing in his drunken eyes; a messy-haired Ophelia dancing between two boys.

"Everything okay?"

Blaise came to rescue the situation.

"I'm sorry. He is drunk and he's leaving right now!" hissed Blaise with an uncomfortable smile.

He was dragged away from us without ever loosening his eye contact with Cormac.

"Leave me alone!" he was fighting Blaise back but he seemed way too drunk and light-headed to fight a sober man. He had already started losing control of his mouth; his pronunciation was off even in the easiest of words.

"What's up with Malfoy lately?" asked Ron after this brief interruption ceased. "He is either walking around like a ghost or starting a fight at every turn."

But the dancing resumed at once and the small incidence was easily forgotten. I watched from afar as Blaise and Draco were having a heated conversation away from the crowd. Draco soon stormed out. I saw Blaise clearly considering whether or not he should follow but I imagine he considered Draco sober enough to return to his dorm safely.

I, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. From that moment on, the cheerfulness of dancing and drinking had disappeared. As everyone continued emptying their drinks in one sitting, I felt strangely dizzy. It was the kind of dizzy you get when you're utterly sad, the kind of blue feeling usually associated with the aftermath of a party. My mood was ruined.

I was supposed to leave with Hermione later in the night. Some instinct told me that our sleepover wouldn't happen tonight. I quickly cancelled the arrangement and announced that I would turn in earlier than I thought. Everyone insisted on another song, another drink, and then another, and then another. I went along with it for a while but it soon became apparent that I was reaching my limits.

I left.

It was strange and instinctive. I knew where to go, where I would find him, where he would be waiting, what he would be drinking.

In the Slytherin Common Room, the fire was almost out. He had forgotten the few basic rules of this dungeon and had lit a cigarette. In his hand, he was holding a half-full bottle of whiskey. He was drinking heavily.

"I told you, you wouldn't last a week," he said and took another drag from his cig.

"It's been _three_ weeks since you said that," I announced. I didn't sit next to him as expected but rather liked looking down upon him.

"I underestimated how spiteful you can become," he said.

I bent down slightly and took a whiff. Liquor, smoke, mahogany, woods, in that order.

"You smell like a sewer."

"You thmell like cheap perfume." The 's's had disappeared or at least subsided in his speech.

I folded my hands across my chest and threw my eyes up.

"I wouldn't exactly go so far as to call it cheap. It was reasonably priced. It's not my fault that you were pampered to death and don't have a taste for anything lower than Dior..."

"Blah, blah, blah... Witty comeback, rolling eyes and judgement. You're a sarcastic mess – we get it!"

Draco tilted his head back and gulped from his bottle. When he straightened himself again, he had a sour smile on his face.

"Okay, give me your hand..." I said and tried to take his bottle away from him.

"This one is mine! You should have gotten yours!" he complained.

"You're drunk. Let's get you upstairs." I pulled both his hands but he refused to cooperate. He loosened his body and made himself heavy until I roared quietly to get him off the couch.

Draco stood and tripped on his own foot. He took a second to stabilize himself and pressed his palm on his forehead to ease the dizziness. Then, he stayed still and quiet. He leaned in close to my neck and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes, enjoying the smell and I was tempted to do so, too. Another inhale.

"It smells sweeter when you close up..." he whispered.

Then, came the silence, the stare, the heaviness of his eyes on mine. I felt the atmosphere getting thicker around us. The room was soaking in tension and heavy air. The moment he lowered his look from my eyes to my lips, was the moment I felt my legs loosen up under me.

"Why did you come back?" he asked. His voice was demanding and strict. "You must have a reason. Your dorm is taken; why did you come back?"

One step. I hated when he could read my mind.

"You were doing so good during these three weeks. Why give up now?" he asked and sighed.

Two steps. I hated it when he silenced me with his eyes.

"Answer me; it drives me crazy when you don't. You have an answer for everything - why did you come back?"

My back met the stone wall behind me. I was cornered up and trapped between two strong hands. As always, his muscles stuck out promptly. Then one hand was softly exploring my side. First, he touched my waist. Then he brushed the back of his fingers against my belly and chest. Then he pressed a thumb against my neck. He lowered his face so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my lips.

"Don't kiss me," I said breathlessly.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't like it... Don't lie to me..." he whispered in my ear.

"You said you want our friendship back. So, don't kiss me... It will ruin us," I begged.

Draco smirked. He swiftly pulled the collar of my turtleneck down and lowered. I had already closed my eyes and my body could never stop him when I felt his soft breath brushing the small of my neck. He never kissed me, never even let his mouth stroke me. He only breathed out heavily and let me melt and shiver without even feeling his drunken lips.

"I know what you're doing..." I whispered. "It's not going to work." I realized that even as I said it, I sounded desperate for more.

He let his hand trickle lower. He reached for the hem of my skirt.

"But I'm not kissing you..." he said lustfully.

The smirk never left his face. He let his lips hover as close to mine as he could without touching them as he lifted my skirt up.

"So, tell me. If you didn't come for a kiss, why did you come? Did you come to find me? Did you miss me at all? Did you miss our walks? Did you miss our place?" he asked.

"Did _you_?" I said and then drew a short breath as I felt his hands rising between my legs.

"If only you fucking knew. I've missed the fuck out of you. I've been missing you every night since the day I met you. I've thought about you every single night."

His hand was now pulling the tights from my skin.

"You were right; we were never friends," he said. "Friends don't drive you that crazy. Friends don't let you wonder. Friends don't make you hard."

His hand was now trapped between the underwear and the soft skin. He was hesitant to go lower at first, so he pressed his luck.

"Then again, I bet you haven't thought about me at all. I bet that you never had a dream of us fucking. I bet you never felt ashamed every time you came."

"Drac-" I was lost.

I remembered my dream in the summer, before we ever became friends. I was living the details of the dream. I was suddenly melting in his arms. I gasped to prove that I wouldn't mind it if his fingers wandered lower.

"Tell me, have you ever played with yourself like this for me? Have you been this wet for me before?"

One circular motion and I was feeling myself crumble right in front of him.

"Dray..." I moaned.

This was his cue to move faster and soon enough, I was whimpering at his touch. I couldn't feel my legs anymore. I wrapped my hands around his neck and left all my weight on him. He supported me comfortably and went on.

"Answer my questions..."

Steps were heard from the entrance of the Common Room, quickly followed by laughter. Three fifth-years were returning from the party.

Our bodies broke apart like breaking glass. I lowered my skirt and tried to act casual but I was dizzy and flushed with fever. Draco quickly sat back on the sofa and returned to his drink.

The boys walked by without paying much attention to us. They seemed drunk as well. They laughed their way across the sitting room and towards their dorms. I watched them carefully. When I looked at Draco again, his hand was hanging loosely off the arm of the sofa and the bottle had been completely left to drip on the leather.

"Draco..." I said and snapped my fingers in front of his face. "Dray!" I yelled.

He was unconscious.

"Okay, come on, then..." I said and lifted his arm up. Even the weight of that arm was unbearable to me. Where had all my ballet muscles gone? "Help me out here, Draco..." I said. He was not responding.

I let him down again and began examining his face. My first instinct was to slap him. When a few hits didn't work, I started getting worried.

"Oh my God..." I whispered. "Draco!" I shook him.

He muttered something inaudible but went back to his unconsciousness very soon. I looked around me. There was a glass of water on the nearby coffee table so I splashed some of it on his face. He woke up at once.

"You scared me. You're so drunk! Don't scare me like that!"

His eyes were open and he was moving his head again but he was not functioning well enough to return to his dorm on his own.

"Help me out here," I repeated and wrapped his arm over my shoulders.

I squealed as I lifted him up and thankfully this time he was just awake enough to help me carry him up the stairs. We took out time. He tried to collapse on me once or twice but we eventually made it to his dorm. It was empty.

I walked him to his bed and took off his shoes. I looked around for some kind of bowl or bucket to leave next to the bed in case he needed to vomit during the night. I rolled him to his side and put two pillows behind his back. Drunk people should never sleep on their backs.

"Do you need anything else?" I whispered.

Draco was muttering something incomprehensible. I looked around. Blaise and Maya would soon return to our dorm for a passionate night and I didn't want to ruin it for them. I had cancelled my arrangement with Hermione on a whim and now I had nowhere to sleep. I took the boots off and spread myself across Blaise's bed. I imagined he wouldn't mind it if I slept over.

Draco murmured all night long. He was dreaming.

"Mu-" At first, I thought he was opening his mouth for a breath. "Dn't tch mu-"

I was worried he was asking me for something – maybe some water. I shot up and walked to him.

"Don't -ch..." he tried. He still had his eyes closed. "Don't touch..." he managed to spell.

"What?" I squinted.

"Don't touch mummy..."

He muttered and mumbled and cursed.

"Please..."

Draco clenched on his pillow. He was close to crying in his sleep. Who was he fighting?

I pushed his hair away from his forehead and stroked him slowly. His silver hair the most important and intriguing part of his appearance and yet it was the scariest to touch. I had never even imagined how it must feel between my fingers.

It was soothing for both of us. Dray relaxed almost at once. When I made sure he was fully asleep again, I went back to Blaise's bed but couldn't sleep.

 _Don't touch mummy..._ The pain was physical and real in the sound of that phrase. I don't remember what was the last thought that entered my head before I fell asleep but it must have been a sorrowful one.

* * *

It was one of these times that you are awakened one instant after you start getting some healthy rest. It was the sound of the door cracking.

Through the lowest light of the early morning that was reaching this dorm room, I saw Blaise tiptoeing. He was holding his shoes in one hand and his blazer in the other and was opening the door of the dorm with his back.

"Wow," he said when he saw me.

"I'm sorry!" I said and jumped up quickly. "He was really drunk and I didn't have anywhere else to sleep and-"

"Chill! I don't mind at all. If I knew you didn't have anywhere to sleep, I would have offered my bed myself," he said. He left his belongings on the floor and approached Draco. "How much did he drink after leaving the party?"

"I'm not sure. I found him in the Common room and he had already drunk about one-third of a bottle of whiskey. I don't know how much he drank before that."

"Oh, boy..." he said and shook his head.

"Does he do this often?" I asked.

"More than you imagine..." he answered. "I shouldn't have let him go. Thank you for taking care of him. You can go back to your dorm now. I'll stay here in case he needs something."

I collected my shoes and laid a hand on the doorknob.

"Blaise?" I said with some hesitation. "Can you give him a message from me?"

"Of course..."

"Tell him to come find me. He'll know where to go," I concluded.

Sundays after a party are slow and mellow. Cheap and dirty.

I took a shower to soothe my tired muscles. The shower is the best place for an overthinker. At first, the feelings were tangled and intertwisted in my brain but when I tilted my head back and thought of the few minutes I had with Dray, I smiled. It scared me to think what turn things would take from now on but the outcome of my feelings told me that I was glad for last night. Months of untold tension and heaviness had been released in just a few moments. I caught myself making plans and dreams on how things could play out from now on. Last night didn't offer a secure absolution for the future but it did shed light on Draco's feelings or desires.

I remembered the almost-kisses. I remembered exactly what his breath felt like on my neck, exactly where his fingers had touched, exactly what moves he had carefully selected to start pleasing me. I had wished for every single detail and even more. I was still melting in that shower and he wasn't even there.

Yes, during that shower, I was satisfied.

The mellow Sunday appeared less cheap and dirty.

I spoke too soon.

I put on some fresh clothes. I wore whatever warm sweater I had and layered everything correctly. It was snowing again, and although the snowflakes were light, I needed to be warm. I didn't know when Draco would show up, so I grabbed two blankets and a book and made my way out of the castle.

It seemed like ages since I had last sat under the elm tree. It might have just been the change of season. When I had last walked away from this place when Draco tried to read my notebook for the first time, it had just started snowing. It was lightly snowing right now as well, so the weather gave the impression that I had returned right after I'd left.

But it had been a month since then and things were about to become more complicated than just picking up where Draco and I had left off.

I watched him approaching like a dark shadow from the far horizon. He was dressed in black, as always. I had never seen him here in the light of day. Usually, he blended into the night like a transparent ghost. Now, he stuck out against the white of his surroundings.

"Are you feeling any better?" I asked.

In view of how things were left last night, I would have expected him to have a faint smile on his face, a smirk – anything. Instead, he had a blunt expression.

I never expected fireworks and flowers. I never thought that the morning after a heated encounter would be perfect or entirely romantic. Yet, I had at least wished to see him at least half as happy or relaxed as I was. He hadn't even spoken a word yet and I could feel my low expectations shatter inside my mind.

"Yes," he said and raised his eyebrows with a sigh. "I was so drunk..."

"Yes, you were," I answered and looked at his face stubbornly. I was trying to decipher what his expression might be implying. "Won't you sit down?"

He quickly obliged. Again, I would have expected him to sit close to me. Now he sat in a distance that was reminiscent of October. I prepared myself for the worst. Right about now, he was going to tell me that he regretted everything he did last night. I braced myself and quickly felt disappointed.

"Why are you looking at me this way?" he said and narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me I puked all over you..." he said and covered his face in embarrassment.

I let out a titter. "Hm... what?"

"Merlin, I don't remember anything," he said.

I stared.

"Blaise told me you found me in the Common Room. Please, tell me I didn't start swearing. I do that when I'm drunk."

Somehow, this was worse than I had expected. I collected the few brain neurons that were still functioning and mustered a few words.

"You don't remember anything?" I muttered, trying to keep my face inconspicuous.

"I don't even remember leaving the party, to be honest."

_...Margot, you once told me that nothing good will ever happen at a school party. People will become superficial and self-obsessed and drink and smoke and they will make mistakes that will make them blush with shame when they are older. I always thought you said that to justify how introverted we both were. I understand now._

_I am being served the meal I once cooked. I am being punished for the crimes of the past. I thought the universe never cared what I did when I was 15 but now fate has come to hit me like a boomerang._

_I'm sorry... I was young... I was confused... Why do I have to be punished now? I want him, Margot; why do I have to be punished in this particular way?_

_What did you do when you were in my place, Margot?_

_See you soon,  
Ophelia_


End file.
